


Break the Silence

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Series: Winchester Crash Course [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Co-written with teamfreewillsamdeancas.] The Doctor picks up a new companion, Annabelle Winchester; meets her adopted guardians, Sam and Dean; encounters angels and vampires; and becomes involved in the 2014 Croatoan epidemic—which just so happens to be a fixed point in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a role-play with my friend Sarah, known as teamfreewillsamdeancas over on Tumblr. I was Ten. She was pretty much all the Supernatural characters, including her OC named Annabelle Winchester. (For more backstory on her, read her fic Winchester Crash Course. It's on Tumblr. Some of Annabelle's information is also included in here, for obvious reasons.)
> 
> For _Supernatural_ , this takes place in between seasons 7 and 8 but the first half is set in April/May 2014. The later half is set in September 2014. For the Doctor, it's after _Planet of the Dead_ and in place of _Waters of Mars._
> 
> We really enjoyed doing this, so let us know what you think.

 

            _Break the silence._

_Damn the dark, damn the light._

            ~ “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac

 

            _Screams break the silence_

_Waking from the dead of night._

_Vengeance is boiling._

_He’s returned to kill the light._

~ “Bark at the Moon” by Ozzy Osbourne

 

All was still in the graveyard. There was not a living soul there save for a fourteen-year-old girl sitting at one of the graves. Her clothes—jeans and a gray hooded sweatshirt—were ragged and dirty, and her light-brown hair—highlighted with streaks of blonde—looked as if it had seen better times. The bags under her stormy-gray eyes suggested she hadn’t slept for days.

            There were statues at several of the graves. One was of an angel that appeared to be weeping into her hands. Annabelle looked back over her shoulder to study it then returned her attention to the grave.

            Suddenly sensing something moving behind her, she whipped around with the reflexes of a trained hunter, drawing the angel blade she kept strapped at her waist. The angel statue had frozen in place, closer than it had been seconds before, and its outstretched hands were curled into talons.

            “What are you?” She backed up, taking her eyes off it for a brief second before refocusing her gaze. Yeah, the angel had moved even closer. “Get away!”

            The angel didn’t move.

            Annabelle, calmer now, raked her eyes over it. She scoffed. “’Course they’d put a creepy stone statue that moves on its own in _this_ cemetery.” Standing and gathering her composure, she moved easily into a defensive posture that Dean Winchester—her friend and adopted guardian—had taught her.

            A wind suddenly sprang up, whipping Annabelle’s hair back from her face. The wind was accompanied by a grinding, grating noise and a flashing light. Her eyes flicked over to the disturbance then just as quickly landed back on the statue.

            It was right in front of her.

            She froze, her mind screaming at every muscle to stay put. Annabelle had seen a lot of things in her time as a hunter, but angel statues that moved when she wasn’t looking? This was new.

            The grinding noise and wind had stopped, and where the flashing light had been was now a tall blue box. Its door opened, and out stepped a tall, skinny man with spiky dark-brown hair and dressed in a brown suit, trenchcoat, and white sneakers. He shut the door behind him then turned to take in the surroundings. His gaze immediately focused on the Weeping Angel and the teenage girl it had cornered. “Don’t blink!” he advised.

            “Thanks for the advice,” Annabelle retorted sarcastically. “I never would have figured that out without you. Now, how do I kill it?”

            He walked forward, long trenchcoat billowing out behind him. “You don’t. You _can’t_ kill it. That’s a Weeping Angel, a Lonely Assassin. They’re nearly as old as the universe itself, and they’re quantum-locked. The moment they are seen by any living creature they freeze into rock. No choice; it’s a fact of their biology. They literally turn to stone the moment they’re seen. And you can’t kill a stone. ’Course, a stone can’t kill you either, but . . . then you turn your head away. Then you blink. And oh, yes, it can. I’m guessing you’ve figured that out by now, haven’t you?”

            “Well, I’m not stupid,” she snapped. “If I can’t kill it, how do I escape it?”

            The man stopped, tilted his head, and gave her a disarming grin. It faded soon after. “Let’s see, there’s a few inches of space . . . Ah, got it! Keep your eyes on it and move slowly, very slowly. Don’t let it touch you. One touch and you’re zapped back into time to live to death.” She started to slide down, half-aware that he was still talking. “Only sociopaths to kill you nicely. Fascinating race, the Weeping Angels. . . . That’s it. Keep your eyes on it and head over to me.” He held out his hand, that smile back on his face. It was disarming, that grin. First he seemed happy to see the Angel, then he was dead serious, and now he was glad again—all within a few short seconds.

            Annabelle made it over to him but ignored his outstretched hand. She couldn’t bring herself to trust him just yet.

            His hand closed around hers anyway. “Run.” Before she could say anything he was already legging it towards the blue box he’d arrived in. “I’m the Doctor, by the way. Who are you?”

            Annabelle, though she was running beside him, managed to stop and pull her hand away. “First of all, don’t touch me. Second, I don’t trust you. So why would I give you my name?”

            He frowned. “Well, that’s a new one. Can’t say I’ve heard that before. Well, given 900-odd years, mind you, the things I _have_ heard . . . Anyway.” The Doctor stopped in front of the box, fished out a key from his pocket, and inserted it in the door. In one second he had the door open. “Sorry, don’t have time to explain everything. Just get inside.” Before she could protest he had pushed her inside and followed, shutting the door behind him.

            Her reaction, however, was nothing like Rose or Martha’s had been.

            The teenage girl backed away from him, gray eyes wide with fear and irises dark with anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled. “Is it Zoë? That’s who you work for, huh? Let me go!”

            _What is she on about?_ the Doctor thought in confusion. He shook his head and pushed past her, heading up the metal grating ramp to the mushroom-shaped console in the center of the room. His hands busied themselves with the controls. Before long, the time rotor was glowing green and moving up and down, signaling that they were in flight. His eyes flicked over to the teenager. “I’ve got no idea who you’re talking about. I don’t work for anyone; and as to what the hell I’m doing, it’s saving your life. You would’ve _died_ out there. Weeelll, zapped back into the past so you could live out your life while the Angel gorged itself on your time energy, but hey. This is the TARDIS, by the way. Don’t go outside; that would probably be a bad idea at the mo.” His eyes, which had been focused on the console most of the time, fixed on the teen as he lifted his head. An expectant look crossed his face. “Go on, say it. Most people do.”

            Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What, that it’s bigger on the inside? I’m not too concerned with it.” She paused and felt the fatigue she’d been fighting off hit her full force. “Look, I’ve had a really hard week. I just want to go home, be with my family, and maybe”—her mouth gaped in a yawn—“sleep a little.”

            The Doctor couldn’t hide his disappointment; but he didn’t want to admit, even to himself, how much he needed a companion. “Aw, really? Well, what if I told you I could take you anywhere in space? TARDIS—that’s T-A-R-D-I-S—stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space. She’s my ship . . . and she travels in time as well. I could take you on a trip—one trip—and have you back in time for dinner. Well?” He knew there was now a hopeful look on his face; and yeah, okay, maybe he _was_ trying to convince her to come with him. He’d been on his own for so long now, ever since leaving Donna and Mickey and Martha, and Rose and the meta-crisis and Bad Wolf Bay. . . . And Donna was right: He needed a companion, because sometimes he needed someone to stop him. Not often, just sometimes. “What do you say?”

            She sighed, clearly not wanting to hurt his feelings by refusing. “Fine. I’m Annabelle Winchester.” She didn’t extend a hand, but it was a start.

            “Nice to meet you, Annabelle Winchester.” He grinned, raised an eyebrow. “So, all of time and space. Where would you like to start?”

            There was silence for a moment as she thought it over. Then she said, “Can we interact with someone from our past, or is that, like . . . against the rules of time travel?”

            He didn’t say anything for a while, flashing back to when he’d taken Rose to meet her dead father.  “It’s not exactly against the rules, but . . . Why?” His tone sharpened into suspicion. “Who were you going to see?” The Doctor’s eyes were suddenly dark as he looked her over. “Every single time. I say it’s a spaceship; that’s all right. _Then_ I say it’s a time machine and suddenly it’s not about you doing something for the universe, it’s about the universe doing something for you. Besides, crossing into your own personal timeline . . . bad idea. That sets up all sorts of potential paradoxes.”

            Annabelle turned away. “. . . That’s what I thought. You go ahead and choose. I’ll be along for the ride.” She tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice and failed.

            He backtracked quickly, realizing he’d upset her. “No, that’s not what I—” He stopped, sucked in a breath, raked his hands through his already-tousled brown hair. “Blimey. Look, crossing into a personal timeline . . . if you meet a past or future version of yourself, touch that version . . . you’re the same person. That causes a paradox. And say you save someone who wasn’t meant to be saved. That causes a hole in time and it sends the reapers to heal itself. The reapers, they devour everything living, trying to mend the wound—and you and a bunch of other people have taken up residence in a building, with that past version of yourself in there. One touch causes a paradox and lets the reapers in. . . . I’m not explaining this very well, am I? Point is, crossing into your personal timeline or established events is strictly forbidden unless it’s for cheap tricks. Well, your personal timeline as long as your past or future self isn’t involved. I’ve done it myself, actually, and the universe hasn’t imploded. But that’s only in dire circumstances with lots of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff and previous incarnations involved.”

            Annabelle laughed weakly at the “wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.” “No. It’s okay. It was a selfish thought, anyhow.” She turned back ’round. “You know, if you can take me somewhere that ang—” her voice cracked slightly, “angels haven’t touched, I’ll be the happiest girl in the world.”

            He smiled at her, then, eyes warm. “Okay, Annabelle.” His smile widened into an excited grin as he moved about the console. “ _Allons-y_!”

            The TARDIS rocked and spun as she traveled through the Time Vortex, sending both occupants tumbling through the console room, the Doctor somehow managing to keep his feet. After a while the green light faded and there was a thumping noise.

            “We’ve landed,” the Doctor said, moving over to the door. He stopped, looked back at Annabelle.

            She’d cut herself a little with the angel blade but managed to hide it. She slid the knife into a sheath hanging around her waist, tied her hair back messily, and grinned at him. “Fun ride.” She picked herself up off the metal grating and joined him.

            “Yep. Want to see where we are?”

            “Yeah.”

            “’Kay, then.” He opened the door, stepped out. “Well, this is interesting.”

            Annabelle followed him out, eyes wide as she took everything in.

            The Doctor looked around. “Let’s see . . . dark blue sky, apple grass, buildings across the bay there . . . No. Oh, come on!” He whirled around, glared at the TARDIS. “Don’t tell me you took us here. I have bad luck with this place!” He glanced around again, mumbled under his breath, “Then again, could be worse. Could be Skaro. And who knows, maybe it’s not New Earth. Mind you, this looks very New Earth to me . . .” Yet New Earth didn’t have twin suns or mountains, so that ruled it out.

            Annabelle had let the Doctor’s monologue go in one ear and out the other. Her eyes spotted a young man two hundred yards away—early twenties was her guess—and was about to call out to him when his form shifted, doubling over. Even from this distance she could see the lengthening jaws, the sprouting fur. Instinctively, her hand flew to the angel blade at her waist. “Doctor . . .”

            “What?” He followed her gaze, saw the shapeshifter as well. Without even thinking his hand grabbed hers. “I know you don’t want me touching you, but in this case . . . RUN!” He legged it, taking off so fast that he lost his grip on Annabelle’s hand.

            She raced after him, neatly dodging any obstacles in her path as they headed further into the woods. “Do you have a plan, or are we just going to run?”

            “Unless you happen to have any silver bullets on you, yes.”

            “You’re asking a hunter. Of course I’ve got silver bullets, and this blade can kill anything—including angels.” Annabelle stopped, drew the angel blade, and tossed the duffel bag around her shoulders to the Doctor, who had also stopped. He caught it easily. “I’ve got silver knives, too. Whatever you want.”

            He dropped the bag as if it had burned him. “No. Only as a last resort. No more deaths. Let’s at least try communicating first. If that doesn’t work, then you can stab it. . . . Hang on, hunter?”

            She nodded tersely. “Yep. You’ve picked up the girl every angel wants. Zoë is their leader.” Despite what he’d said, she stayed in a fighting stance.

            “So, what, nothing about the whole police-box-is-bigger-on-the-inside-and-can-travel-through-time-and-space thing, or that how it’s alien tech and therefore I’m not even human? And hang on a tic. _Angels?_ Proper angels, not the Lonely Assassin kind?” The Doctor was pretty sure there was an incredulous look on his face, in his voice. He didn’t care.

            “Yes. Angels,” Annabelle replied shortly. “Angels that answer prayers, or are _supposed_ to. And to be honest, you haven’t threatened my life yet so I’m perfectly fine with traveling with you—human or not. And you seem like a nice guy.”

            He let out a short, bitter laugh. “A nice guy, huh? Trust me, I’m the last person you want as an enemy. Speaking of which . . .” He turned around, faced the ’wolf coming towards them. It stopped in its tracks, clearly puzzled at this turn of events. “Hello! I’m the Doctor. Sorry to attract your attention like that, but we’re lost. Don’t suppose you’d be able to help us out. Could you shift back for us?”

            The werewolf shook its head and started backing away. Before long it had vanished—probably in search of better prey.

            Once she was sure it was gone, Annabelle sheathed the angel blade but kept her hand on it. “Don’t ever try to talk me out of calling you a nice guy like that again. We all have our dark sides.”

            Under his breath he muttered, “Blimey, you’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He leaned back against a tree, legs crossed in front of him. “I don’t even think Donna was this much trouble!”

            Anger flashed in her eyes as she stared him down, was there in her voice along with remorse: “I had to kill my boyfriend. I will be as much trouble as I want!”

            The Doctor glared at her, eyes dark and stormy. He snarled, “Don’t challenge me! I’ve had to commit genocide so many times that I’ve lost count. I destroyed _my own people_! And I lose every person I travel with. They leave me because they want to, are forced to, or they die. So _don’t_ tell me just because you lost your _boyfriend_ it gives you the right to act out.”

            Tears had started to well up in her eyes. She wiped them away, and her voice grew small and apologetic: “Forget it. Alright, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry. . . . You—you really do seem like a good man to me. I didn’t—” Annabelle searched for the right words for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

            The hard, dark look on his face softened. “You didn’t know. You weren’t there.”

            Annabelle regarded him for a moment then hugged him. Her chest shook with each rattling breath.

            The Doctor hesitated a moment before bringing his arms around her, returning the hug. Then he drew back. “So, let’s explore, hhhmm?” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth; his eyes looked down and to the right, as if he was recalling a memory.

            Annabelle pulled herself together. “Sure.” She was quiet as she grabbed her bag, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.

            He walked forward, out of the trees, and spun around, taking in the sights. His eyes settled on the building across the bay. “Ooh, I like the look of that. Looks interesting. Maybe they’ll have a little shop. I like a little shop.” He jerked his head at Annabelle. “C’mon.” Without waiting for her reply, he began walking toward the building that reminded him of the hospital on New Earth.

            She walked beside him, quietly taking in the landscape. In an effort to avoid the silence, the Doctor began doing what he did best: talk.

            “By the way, Annabelle, I think I’ve figured out what year we’re in. It’s . . . ooh, the year six billion? Not sure what planet this is, though. Sometimes I set the coordinates for a specific place and/or time, and the TARDIS takes me somewhere completely different. Not my fault. The old girl’s never really listened to me. And I haven’t seen _everything_ in the universe. Still, that’s why I keep travelling. So, what’s your story? I know you’re a hunter and angels are after you, but I don’t know why.”

            She started a little, as if he’d brought her out of a trance. “The war in heaven—free will vs. prophecy and carrying out God’s will. Free will side I can trust; the other side wants me because I’m the key to the war or something similar to that. I refuse and they kill me and everyone near me. Before I knew anything about it, my family was killed and two brothers took me in. Now I hunt and run from my destiny.”

            He smiled faintly. It quickly faded. “I did much the same. I stole a magic blue box and ran away. I haven’t stopped running since. I even ran from the Time War, until the Sisterhood of Karn forced a regeneration on me. That regeneration fought in the Time War . . . but he wasn’t the Doctor. The Time Lords died and took the Daleks with them—or so I’d thought; the Daleks keep turning up. After the War, and after I’d regenerated, I met this girl, Rose. She traveled with me (but not with this face at first), and we were . . . together.” He swallowed, glanced away. “Now she’s in a parallel universe with a part-human clone of myself and I can’t even see her again. She was already dead in this universe; there wouldn’t have been any way for her to—” He broke off. “Anyway. Running from your destiny, eh? I don’t quite believe in destiny. ’Course, there’s always the chance something’s manipulating your timeline; but the way I see the universe, there are fixed points, tiny precious moment that always have to happen. Everything else is in flux; anything can happen, but those tiny moments _have_ to stand. They’re fixed in time forever.”

            “I’m sorry about your planet . . . and Rose,” Annabelle said. “Destiny’s a weird thing. The boys that took me in were supposed to be Michael and Lucifer’s vessels. It . . . it’s a long story but they turned their fates around. We’re team free will—us and this angel Castiel. I don’t think I can run forever, but until we’re ready to face Zoë that’s what we’re doing. I’ve got Enochian symbols etched into my ribs so they can’t find me. And I’ve got this.” She lifted up her left pant leg enough for the Doctor to see the anti-possession tattoo on the inside of her ankle. “It keeps demons out.”

            He eyed the tattoo, nodded. “Nice. So, _why_ is this Zoë chasing you lot, exactly? Did you spoil her plans for world domination or what?” He paused, considering. “Mind you, that’s pretty much all I do. The Time Lords adopted a policy to watch and never interfere. I’ve flouted the rules of my own people ever since I ran away. I do nothing _but_ interfere.”

            The look on her face said she didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh. Well . . . the boys, Sam and Dean, locked Lucifer and Michael in hell. Most of the angels want to get them out and start the apocalypse again. Cass—the angel—Dean, Sam, and I _won’t_ let that happen. When Raphael was killed, they figured the war was over and they’d won. But then they picked me up and found out about Zoë. I’m supposed to be extremely powerful if even a drop of angel or demon blood enters my system. They want me to drink the blood and end the world. Not happening obviously. So Zoë sends her angels to watch over those I know.” She sounded more angry than annoyed with the idea.

            By now they had reached the door of the building. The Doctor pushed the door open, walked through. “Haven’t seen any other Weeping Angels chasing you and your mates, have you?” He looked around the lobby, distracted. “Oooh, they’ve got a little shop! Um, sorry, it’s just . . . I like a little shop. A shop does some people a world of good. Not me, of course, but some people.”

            Annabelle grinned. “Yeah, little shops are nice. I’ve never seen a Weeping Angel before that; I don’t know about the boys. They’ve been hunters their entire lives, and I’ve only been traveling with them for almost a year now.”

            The Doctor’s gaze drifted around the lobby before settling on Annabelle. “You’re lucky. I’ve been on my own now for so long because there’s nobody else. Donna, Martha, Mickey, Captain Jack—you’d do well to stay away from him—even Rose . . . They’re gone. Still, traveling on my own’s better this way.”

            Her hand had finally drifted from the angel blade, and for once she looked completely relaxed. The compassion in her eyes made him feel a little uncomfortable, but he shrugged it off. Annabelle said, “Everyone needs someone. I’ll stay with you if you’d like.”

            He smiled slowly. “I’d like that.”

            She returned the smile. “Then it’s settled. I’m staying with you, Doctor.”

            Suddenly uncomfortable, he glanced away, swallowed. “Right, then. Rule Number One is Don’t wander off. B, no, Two is . . . well, mostly that’s it. And previous companions—especially Rose—were horrible at following that one. So, see anything that catches your eye?”

            “’Shifters everywhere, for one thing.” She sniffed. “I smell coffee.” Suddenly she was aware of her lack of sleep as fatigue washed over her. “That sounds good.”

            “Coffee it is. Actually, that sounds brilliant.” He walked over to where the scent was strongest, a booth set up similar to a mini-Starbucks in a mall food court back on Earth. “You’re paying.”

            Annabelle pulled a credit card with a fake ID out of her pocket. “Will this work?”

            He eyed the plastic rectangle. “Hhhm.” His hand reached into the inside of his suit jacket pocket, pulled out the sonic screwdriver. “Let me see that.”

            She handed it over. He activated the sonic, held it over the card. There was a buzzing sound, and when it stopped he handed the card back to Annabelle. “There you go. Now it’ll work on any planet, any time period. And you’re never going to run out of cash.”

            “Awesome! What else does that thing do?” She eyed the sonic screwdriver curiously.

            “I’ll tell you what it _doesn’t_ do. It doesn’t maim, doesn’t kill, doesn’t wound. This is a sonic screwdriver, but it can do more than open locks—so long as it's not wood. It doesn’t do wood. Anyway, it can also heal wounds, perform scans, repair barbed wire, track energy signals . . .”

            “Whoa. Hang on a second. It can _heal_?”

            “Weellll, if it’s on the right setting. Anyway. Coffee?”

            “Right.” She ordered some with an extra shot of caffeine, stepped back, and let the Doctor order his. Naturally, he asked for some banana-flavored cream in his order. At the look on Annabelle’s face he said defensively, “What? I like bananas. Bananas are good. Always bring a banana to a party, Annabelle.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said dryly as they took their drinks. She sipped hers. “Bananas are good. Caffeine keeps you awake, though.”

            “Meh. Not for some people. It just sends them right off to dreamland.” He sipped at his drink. “Not me, other people. I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

            “That’s good, I guess. Get more done that way.”

            He shrugged. “While my companions were sleeping, I’d usually tinker with the TARDIS, fix what needs fixing. She’s all I’ve got left of my home planet. What about you? Where do you live?”

            “Lincoln, Nebraska, for now. We’re gonna have to get out of there. Angels found home base so”—she shrugged—“we’ll probably just live on the road wherever we can find cases.”

            “On the road, eh?” He took another sip. “What sort of car do you have? And what year? Well, not you specifically, but these Sam and Dean blokes you live with.”

            “’67 Chevy Impala. She’s beautiful, sleek and black. The boys practically grew up in her backseat.”

            He nodded. “1967. Great year. Bit dull. And I can relate. I was just a teenager when I stole Sexy—the TARDIS. I’ve lived in her ever since, though Earth has become a sort of second home to me.”

            “Yeah?” Annabelle finished off her coffee, feeling refreshed and more alert.

            “Yeah. Do Sam and Dean have a nickname for the Impala?” He drained the last of his drink, spied a nearby rubbish bin, and tossed the cup in.

            Annabelle did the same. “Dean calls her Baby. Sam isn’t as attached. Dean’s rebuilt the car from the ground up, so it is kinda his baby.”

            The Doctor smiled, laughed a little. “I think I’d like him. Baby. Then again, considering I call the old girl Sexy. . . . Hhmm. I’ve been neglecting her of late.”

            “Oh. Well, when we get back I’ll get some rest and you can spend time with your TARDIS. Sound good?”

            He nodded, looked around again. “Where in here do you want to go? I’ve never been here before. Honest. I have absolutely no idea where we are.”

            “Good question . . . hmm . . . I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to see Athens.”

            He frowned. “Dunno if there even _is_ an Athens on this planet. So, what, back to the TARDIS?”

            “Yeah.”

            “All right, then.” He turned around, headed for the doors. In seconds he was walking out into apple-scented grass and to where he’d parked his ship.

            Annabelle followed him, keeping a suspicious eye on some of the ’shifters. It may be her hunter instincts kicking in, but to her it looked like they were eyeing her as if she was prey waiting to be caught.

            One of the ’shifters moved suddenly, tackling her to the ground. Annabelle rolled with it, landing on top, and pinned it down. In its half-and-half state it couldn’t do much, but it did snarl and try to bite at her. This one looked like it shifted into a big cat—a panther, maybe.

            “Nice try, but I’m afraid you’ve lost,” she informed it, unsheathing her angel blade and driving it through the ’shifter’s heart.

            The Doctor had whirled around at the sudden noise, sonic screwdriver already out and pointed as though it was a weapon. By the time he reached her, Annabelle was on her feet, brushing herself off, and looking around as if to challenge the other ’shifters. The two of them stood back-to-back, knife and sonic at the ready.

            A wolf ’shifter leaped at Annabelle, claws outstretched and fangs bared. Its claws raked down Annabelle’s arm, drew blood. She reacted instinctively, lashing out with the angel blade. Once she was sure it was dead, she used the bottom of her shirt to wipe the blood off the knife. Then she glanced at her arm. “Well. . . . I think it would be in our best interest to leave now.”

            The Doctor couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Oh, you think? I _never_ would have guessed.” He adjusted the setting on the sonic, activated it. The resulting ultrasonic screams had several ’shifters cringing away in pain and covering their ears. “Leg it!” he snapped at Annabelle. “Get back to the TARDIS!”

            She took off. The Doctor wasn’t far behind. Once they were both inside he slammed the door shut and ran to the console. With a flick of the controls he sent them back into the Vortex. “Well, remind me never to go there again. Ever.”

            Annabelle grinned, adrenaline rushing through her system. “’Kay. I haven’t been on a hunt with that much action in . . . months! Ha. Last one I went on was a ’shifter too.” She noticed her arm was still bleeding and gestured to it with a tilt of her head. “Have you got a bathroom somewhere in here? I’ve gotta clean this up.” A drop of blood trickled down from the deep scratches in her arm; she caught it on her finger.

            “Oh, yeah. Bathroom’s down that hallway, take a right, then a left. Second door on the right.” He smiled slightly. “Surely you didn’t think this was the only room on the TARDIS, did you?”

            She shrugged, already moving in the direction of the hallway he’d indicated. “Well, you mentioned your other companions sleeping; I didn’t think they’d sleep in here. Are you a real doctor or do you just call yourself that?”

            He looked offended at the question. “I _am_ a doctor. Well, sort of, though my medical training is not as it should be. I guess you could say I’m a bit of a dabbler—medicine, philosophy, history. Jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Though, really, that’s Hermes, the Greek god of messengers. And, honestly, it’s just ‘the Doctor.’”

            She paused, chewing her lip. “All right. Well, then, come with me. You can get some practice in. These probably need a few stitches.”

            He walked over to her, took her wounded arm in his left hand, and pulled out the sonic with the other. “Or we could . . .” He adjusted the settings, pointed the screwdriver at the claw marks on her arm, and sonicked it. There was the familiar buzzing sound, and Annabelle watched with wide eyes as her skin and muscle knit back together.  He flipped the sonic in his hand, pocketed it.

            “That’s useful,” she commented, stretching her arm a little. A satisfied expression crossed her delicate features. “Thanks. I’m exhausted. Where can I sleep?”

            The Doctor’s mind raced at the question, trying to picture an unused room and coming up blank. “I’m sure the TARDIS will show you. She’s alive; did I forget to mention that? Anyway, go down that hallway, take a right. The bedrooms are usually down that way.”

            “Alright. Thanks again.” She was gone moments later as she followed his instructions.

            The Doctor crashed on the yellow captain’s chair near the console monitor. He wasn’t tired, not really, but his eyes closed anyway.

His dream-self woke on a nightmare.

-oOo-

Annabelle found an unused room fairly quickly. In fact, it seemed like the door had just appeared right across the hall from her. She murmured a quick “thanks”, and the lights flickered in acknowledgment. Right now, though, she was too tired to pay much attention. She hit the bed face-first and refused to move.

            Hours later, she woke screaming.

-oOo-

The Doctor was trapped in memories of the Time War, the Battle of Canary Wharf, Daleks, Cybermen, losing Rose. His eyes snapped open at the scream. Without even thinking he was on his feet and racing toward his latest companion’s room. “Annabelle!” The door opened. He stumbled in, saw she was sitting up and running her hands over her body as if to check everything was in place. Her breathing was shaky. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

            Her breathing steadied as she said, “I’m okay. It’s just a nightmare.” She repeated that under her breath a few times before calming down enough to glance at him. “Are _you_ okay?”

            Suddenly he realized what he must look like to her: eyes and hair wild, hearts racing, clothes disheveled, chest heaving in pants. He swallowed, worked on controlling his body’s reaction. It didn’t quite work. “No. I’m not.”

            Concern for him flickered over her features. She patted the bedspread next to her, inviting him to sit. “We can talk about it if you want.”

            Slowly, he nodded, sat beside her. “You first.”

            Annabelle took a deep breath, forced herself to stop shaking. “It’s been the same stuff for months now. It’s always me with those shadowy angel wings extending from my back.” Her eyes found a spot on the wall, and her gaze unfocused slightly. “It starts . . . it starts in that old house in the Rockies. Always with that trail of blood to my brother and sister's room, but instead of a wendigo standing over them it’s me. The scene changes: Me standing over Sam and Dean with a gun to their heads. Another change: me standing over my boyfriend and his sister’s body, their blood covering my hands.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “That part came true. The last part is always me standing over a bloody battlefield covered in bodies. . . . I’m the only living thing there.”

            The Doctor was silent for a while, his eyes focusing on the room suddenly just across the hall—Rose’s room. Mentally, he chastised his ship for bringing Rose’s room to him _now_ , when he’d tried so hard to forget—even though he never could, not really. “With me . . . it’s always the last day of the war, the Time War. My people, the Time Lords, were fighting the Daleks, and the whole universe convulsed, suffered. The war turned into hell during the final days when our Lord President Rassilon”—he said the name scathingly—“and the High Council had a plan to become creatures of consciousness only. They released the Horde of Travesties; the Nightmare Child; the Could-Have-Been King and his armies of Meanwhiles and Never-Weres. . . . I had to stop them. So I stole the Moment, used it, and watched my planet, my people _burn. I_ caused that. Then my dream shifts. Daleks, Cybermen, werewolves, the Devil, being human . . . Then there’s the Battle of Canary Wharf, losing Rose . . . And all because of _Torchwood_.” He snarled the name, felt his nails dig into his trousers. “Sorry. Um, if you need any explaining . . .”

            Annabelle rested a hand on his back, trying to comfort him. “No. It’s okay. I don’t want to make you remember anything painful for you. You mention Rose a lot. You mentioned she was your girlfriend. I can see that you loved her. From what you’ve said I don’t think what happened to her was your fault. If you want to go after whoever did that to her if you haven’t already I’m willing to help you out.” He could tell from her tone of voice that she meant it.

            A harsh, bitter laugh escaped him. “I don’t have to worry about Torchwood. There’s only one branch now, in Cardiff, and they’re led by my friend Captain Jack Harkness. The Daleks and Cybermen had already taken care of the other two branches, and Torchwood Four had been forgotten long ago. As for Rose, she wasn’t my— We never—” He sighed. “The first time she was trapped in Pete’s World, it wasn’t my fault. She’d been trying to help me, to force the Daleks and Cybermen back into the Void, and her grip on the lever slipped . . . The second time, I left her there with a part-human meta-crisis of myself. I don’t age; I regenerate. My companions can spend the rest of their lives with me, but I can’t spend my life with them. So I gave her a version of me that can give her the one adventure I can never have. Still . . .” He shrugged. “Even if I wanted to reverse that, I can’t. I can’t cross my own personal timeline. The universe would probably explode if I did that.”

            “I’m sorry,” Annabelle said softly. “I wish I could help you out. Really I do . . .” Her hand slid down his back a little before she removed it completely. “If you ever want to talk more,” she offered, “I’ll listen.”

            When he did turn his head to look at her, his expression was unreadable. “Thanks.” Suddenly he was on his feet bouncing on the balls of his heels. “So! Athens, you said. Athens, Greece?”

            “Uh, yeah.” She pulled her bangs back way from her face; they slid right back into place. “Should I change?”

            He grinned. “Depends. What year do you want to land in?”

            She shrugged. “Surprise me.”

            “All right, then.” He disappeared from her room, headed into the console room. “You want a time machine; I’ll give you a time machine.”

            Annabelle followed him. At the console, he adjusted the coordinates for Athens, Greece; spun a wheel on the console; pulled on something somewhere else. He stopped, looked up at her, and said, “Oh, I forgot to ask—past or future? Cos right now, step outside those doors and it’s going to be the year 500 B.C.”

            “This would be fine.” She was thrilled, judging from the look on her face, but her voice was trying to hide it.

            “Blimey,” he muttered, “it’s almost easier trying to get an Ood to laugh.” Raising his voice, he added, “In that case, wardrobe room’s over that way.” He pointed in the general direction. “I’m sure the TARDIS will be able to help you find something.”

            “Thanks.” She disappeared into the wardrobe room. When she came back, her hair was braided Katniss Everdeen-style and . . . well, he wasn’t quite sure what she was wearing.

            “Nice braid,” he commented, glancing up from the console. “It’s from _The Hunger Games_ , yeah?”

            “Yeah. You learn a lot from YouTube videos on long road trips. Katniss is cool. She’d make a good hunter in the monster sense. The arena reminds me of Dean’s description of Purgatory.”

            The Doctor pulled a face. “Mind you, if the events in that book series were real—and I’m not saying they are—it wouldn’t have lasted long. I would’ve stopped it.”

            She fidgeted, unsure what to say to that. Finally she settled on, “That’s good.”

            The two of them settled into silence, broken only by the gentle humming of the TARDIS. Suddenly Annabelle’s eyes widened. “Wait! I want to make sure Sam and Dean are okay. I’m sorry. I just . . .” She shrugged apologetically. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

            The Doctor was silent for a moment, thinking it over, but then he nodded. “Okay. Canceling Athens. Next stop . . .” He looked at her askance.

            “Lincoln, Nebraska, 2014. I’m really sorry. Why don’t we stay the night there? You can stay with us.”

            “Yeah, sure.” He smiled. “Why not? He adjusted the coordinates, did something with something else, and finished with a flourish. “ _Allons-y_!”

            Annabelle smiled as well. Something about his energy was contagious.

            “We’ll be there in about, ooh, ten minutes?” the Doctor said. “You can go change out of that if you want. Keep the braid, though. It looks good.”

            “Thanks.” Feeling a blush steal over her cheeks, she ducked her head and grinned in order to hide it before going back into the wardrobe room to change.

            The Doctor, meanwhile, had been messing with the TARDIS’s sound system. A particular favorite came on, and he started singing along: _“What do you want? What do you want? I want rock ’n’ roll. Yes I do. Long live rock ’n’ roll. Oh, yeah, yeah. Rock of ages, rock of ages. Still a-rollin’, rock ’n’ rollin’ . . .”_

            Annabelle could hear the Def Leppard song from the wardrobe room. She couldn’t help but flash back to Dean playing this song in the Impala. Quickly she forced it down and continued changing.

            Out in the console room, “Rock of Ages” ended and another song started up. The Doctor couldn’t help grinning as he sang along with Joe Elliott: _“Y’better come inside if you’re ready to, but no chance if you don’t wanna dance. . . .”_

            When Annabelle came back, she was wearing her jeans and an oversized hoodie. She commented, “I think you and Dean will get along well.”

            He looked over, an innocent expression on his face. “Oh? What makes you think that?”

            “You have the same taste in music.” She smiled. “This is what he plays in the Impala.”

            “What, Def Leppard?”

            “Among others: Bon Jovi, Black Sabbath, Metallica, Bob Seger, AC/DC . . . Pretty much anything rock.”

            “Yeah, sounds like I would like him. Hhhm. Wonder if he likes Ian Dury.”

            “I don’t know. He listens to a lot of music. He can relate to a lot of it, too.”

            The Doctor grinned, but it soon faded. “'Course, if they find out I’m a Time Lord, they’d probably try and kill me.” His expression hardened. “Isn’t that what they do? Kill anything that’s not human?”

            Annabelle looked slightly offended as she replied, “No. That’s not how it works. We go after things that murder people out of cold blood. They’ve let things go before because they weren’t murdering. Look at Cass, for example. And I have friends that aren’t human. I have a friend in London, Ciel, he’s a demon. One in New York, Claudia, she’s an angel. We don’t just kill mercilessly.”

            He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Be that as it may, I’m not letting them near the TARDIS. Time travel with Brits is bad enough; imagine what it’ll be like with Americans. You’ve seen the movies. Though, _Back to the Future_ wasn’t all that bad.”

            “All right. But really, if we killed everything nonhuman that we came across, wouldn’t that make us monsters too?”

            He chuckled dryly. “Someone said something similar to me once. They said if I could decide who lived and who died, then that would make me the monster. And I’ve killed; I’ve taken lives. The worst part is that I got clever, manipulated people into taking their own.” He sighed. “However . . .”

            Annabelle waited expectantly for him to continue.

            “Not all humans, not every species is purely evil. Well. Except for the Daleks, but they were created to exterminate anything that isn’t a Dalek, that Daleks were the supreme beings in the universe.”

            “What’s a Dalek?” she asked, confused.

            “Basically, they look like big metal pepper pots with a plunger and a ray gun, but don’t let that fool you. The actual creature is inside, and it looks more like a mutant octopus than anything else. Here, let me show you.” He went over to the monitor, called up an image of a Dalek. “This is what it looks like on the outside and this”—he called up another picture—“is what it looks like on the inside.”

            She stared. “That’s the strangest-looking creature I have ever seen.”

            “Trust me, I’ve seen stranger. Anyway, all the Daleks know is how to hate, how to hate and kill. But I think there’s one tiny gene of fear left, and it _burns_ in their DNA when they face me.”

            “Oh, interesting.” Before she could comment further, the TARDIS landed.

            “You first,” the Doctor told her, gesturing toward the doors.

            She stepped outside, looked around. To her relief, everything seemed normal. “I know where we’re at. The house should be just down the road. Come on!”

            Behind her, the Doctor had stepped out of and shut the TARDIS. He followed her, taking in the scenery with his eyes. “Huh. Nice town. Looks a bit boring, though. Then again, that could change fairly quickly.”

            “Peaceful is the word I usually use. It’s nice in between hunts. Well . . . it was . . .”

            The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “What happened? Oh, no, don’t tell me. Zoë, right?”

            “Right.” Annabelle nodded toward a field they were walking past. “I worked there for a while. Nice people. Good family.”

            Something about her tone made him ask, “Are they—?”

            “Angels? No. They’re human. They make an honest living. They were always happy to give Dylan and me a place to work and good meal every now and then.” Annabelle looked over at him, a faint smile on her face.

            He started to ask who Dylan was, then remembered she’d mentioned her dead boyfriend. That must have been him. So he covered with, “Well, I meant to say whether they were alive or dead, but that works too.”

            “They’re alive. I won’t— I _refuse_ to let anyone hurt them.”

            The Doctor fixed her with a steady gaze for a moment, but it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Finally he said, “Good for you. Now, c’mon. Where to?”

            Annabelle opened her mouth to reply when her ears caught the sound of the Impala’s engine a little ways down the road. “That way!” She broke into a run to stop the Winchesters from going anywhere and almost ended up being hit. Dean slipped out of the driver’s side, and between the open door and the sound system blaring, the Doctor could hear the strains of Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” from where he was standing. He rolled his eyes and broke into a jog, catching up.

            “What are you doing, kid?” Dean scolded Annabelle. “I was just going to look for you.”

            At that point, the Doctor came jogging up. He stopped directly behind Annabelle. Dean looked slightly alarmed, but since Annabelle had a habit of bringing in people she’d befriended, he decided to let it go. Not that easily, though. “Is this guy bothering you?” he asked Annabelle.

            “No. He’s cool.”

            Dean eyed the Doctor suspiciously, but he caught Annabelle’s _I’ll explain later_ look.

            “This is the Doctor,” Annabelle said. “Doctor, this is Dean.”

            The suspicious look in Dean’s eyes faded. “Uh, hey,” he said gruffly.

            The Doctor smiled and waved. “Hello.”

            “Dean,” said Annabelle, “let’s go home and I'll make dinner and explain everything, okay?”

            “You seem to be in high spirits.” He hesitated, considering, then said, “All right. Get in, both of you.”

            Annabelle slid in the backseat, Dean went back behind the wheel, and the Doctor slipped in back behind Sam. The Time Lord commented, “Nice car. ’67 Chevy Impala, yeah?”

            Dean smiled as he turned the car around. “Yeah. Not many people recognize what a good car she is.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t get him started.”

            “Aw, come on, Sammy. I wouldn’t go into depth unless he wanted me to.”

            “Boys, behave.” That was Annabelle, and the Doctor couldn’t stop smirking. She sounded like she was their mother. He leaned over and whispered, “Are they always like this?”

            “Stressful week,” she whispered back. “They usually work well together. How do people describe them . . .? Co-dependent.” At that point, they pulled up in front of a two-story house. She told the Doctor, “Come with me. I’ll show you the guest room.” Without waiting for a response, she got out of the Impala.

            “Okay.” He slid out as well, followed her inside. “Nice place,” he remarked, casting an appreciative eye around the hallway, the rooms he could see out of the corner of his eye.

            “They wouldn’t know how to hold the place down if they didn’t have me.” Annabelle led him up the stairs, took him to the end of the hall and stopped at the last door on the right. She opened it to reveal a queen-sized bed, a lamp, ceiling light, and a dresser in the corner. The teen walked over, opened one of the drawers, took out some men’s clothes and left to go set them in a room down the hall. When she came back she said, “This is where you’ll stay tonight. My room’s down the hall if you need anything. Dean’s across the hall from you. Sam’s across the hall from me.”

            “’Kay. Thanks,” he said with a small smile.

            “No problem. I’ll come get you when dinner’s ready. Anything in particular you want?”

            “I love chips—er, sorry, French fries this side of the pond. How does steak and chips sound?”

            “That works.” She flashed him a polite smile. “Make yourself at home.”

            “I will, ta.” He instantly flopped onto the bed, not even bothering to kick off his shoes, and laced his hands behind his head.

            Shaking her head, Annabelle left his room and headed to her own. There she stashed her duffel bag and angel sword before going downstairs to help Sam and Dean. Ninety minutes later she returned to fetch the Doctor. Down in the kitchen she’d talked with the two of them about traveling with the Time Lord, and they’d approved it.

            The alien in question was currently speed-reading a book when she knocked and poked her head in to announce, “Dinner!”

            “Great!” He jumped off the bed, bolted over to the door, and followed her—and his nose—downstairs. “Smells delicious.”

            “Thanks. The boys are in the dining room”—she pointed—“that way. Go sit with them. I’ll fix the plates. What do you want to drink? We’ve got water and beer, and I think I have some tea if you want that.”

            “Tea, thanks. That’d be great. I like a good cuppa tea.”

            “Earl Grey okay?”

            “Yeah, sure. Brilliant. You said the dining room’s this way?” He started heading off without waiting for a reply, already distracted at the prospect of talking with Sam and Dean. Their names sounded familiar, but he wasn’t quite sure why.

            His sensitive ears caught snippets of their conversation. They were talking about a trip to Memphis this week for a hunt, the week’s events; how this was the first time in a while they’d seen Annabelle without tear-filled eyes. As soon as the Doctor appeared in the doorway they quickly switched to talk about TV shows.

            The Doctor took a seat beside Sam, looked over at both brothers. “So, what are you talking about? And don’t say TV shows, cos I know you did that just as I entered. But while we’re on the subject, what sort of TV shows?”

            “Sam got me into _Game of Thrones,_ ” Dean volunteered.

            “Ah. Never saw it. Saw the previews, didn’t want to watch it. Now, why don’t you tell me what you talking about before I came in here, hhhmm?”

            Annabelle came in, set a beer down in front of both Sam and Dean, and nodded at the older Winchester to let him know it was okay to talk about hunting. Then she ducked back into the kitchen. Dean said, “Angels, mainly.”

            The Doctor leaned forward with interest, resting his crossed arms on the table. “Angels? Which ones?”

            Dean gave him a _How clueless are you?_ look. “Um . . . the ones against Cass . . .?”

            Hearing them from the kitchen, Annabelle called out, “Proper angels, Doctor, not Weeping Angels.” She came back in loaded with plates, set them down in front of the three men and in the spot for her. Dean asked her, “Zoë hasn’t reached out to you, Annabelle, has she?”

            “Not yet, but you guys should pack up and get out of here as soon as you can. You should talk to Cass, too. Let him know what Zoë’s up to so he can watch out for the other hunters and Lincoln.” She ducked out again, returned with the Doctor’s mug of tea. “Do you take anything in your tea?” she asked the alien.

            “No; straight is fine.” He took a sip, then started cutting into his steak. “Weren’t you two saying something about a case in Memphis earlier?” He took a bite, ignoring the stares Sam and Dean were giving him.

            “Yeah,” Sam said. “Nest of vampires.”

            Annabelle left to grab a glass of water for herself, sat down next to Dean. “I heard about that. It sounds like a particularly vicious nest. Be careful.”

            “We will,” the brothers assured her.

            The Doctor swallowed, set his knife and fork down for a second. “Mind if I come with you? I could be . . . well, useful.” He had to admit, he was curious about their cases—but he’d also dealt with vampires before. Actually, there had been a war between the Time Lords and the vampires over ten million years ago. He had personally killed the King of the Great Vampires, back in his fourth incarnation. Now, years later, any Time Lord who came across a descendant of the Great Vampires was duty-bound to destroy the vampire. Well, considering he was the only Time Lord left, he assumed that now fell entirely on his shoulders.

            Annabelle smiled. “That _would_ be fun. We’ve got room in the Impala.”

            Sam and Dean exchanged glances, considering, before Dean agreed, “Yeah, sure.”

            “Brilliant.”

            “We’re heading out at ten,” Sam informed him.

            “Sounds good,” Annabelle replied.

            “ _Molto bene._ ”

            When they’d finished, Annabelle quickly did the dishes before retiring to her room. There she tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. Sam and Dean, on the other hand, fell asleep almost as soon as they hit their mattresses.

            The Doctor, meanwhile, stayed awake and meandered through the house. Eventually he ended up in the library. Naturally, being the curious Time Lord snoop that he was, he decided to do a bit of browsing.

            Most of the reading material was mythological lore and old Latin books, but there were some mystery books that the Doctor presumed belonged to Annabelle. Upon further browsing, he found a Nook that had Annabelle’s name written all over it—literally. Speed-reading revealed that it was her own writing about her adventures and hunts with Sam and Dean. Wendigos, demons, angels, werewolves, ghosts, skin-walkers . . . She could easily make a best-seller with some of this. Then again, so could he—if he ever bothered to write down any of his own time-travelling adventures. Considering he’d had so many different faces and companions that would be quite a feat.

            Upstairs in her room, Annabelle had just managed to fall asleep when she was startled awake by a hand over her mouth. She cried out, struggled, but only managed to cut herself when her hand slipped on the blade of her angel sword. The angel stuffed a cloth into her mouth, prepared a needle. Annabelle felt the sting as it slid into her neck. Then the world grew fuzzy as the drug took effect, and everything went black.

            Downstairs, the Doctor had been browsing through one of the Latin texts when he heard a cry and scuffle coming from upstairs. He instantly dropped the book he was reading and raced for Annabelle’s room, hearts pounding in his chest.

            _Oh, Rassilon, let her be okay! If I lose another companion . . ._

            His hearts sank when he reached her door: Annabelle was gone. The only trace she’d left was a trail of blood leading out the window.

            The Doctor cursed in Gallifreyan, eyes dark with fear. _Sam and Dean are going to kill me._

-oOo-

When Annabelle came to, she was strapped to a bed and in what looked like an angel’s headquarters. She panicked a little, but it was no use struggling—she couldn’t free herself; the ropes were too tight.

            The angel who’d kidnapped her came into the room, smiled coldly at her. Annabelle flashed him a grin of her own as she worked on calming herself down. “Let me guess, those angels were your brother and sister and now you want revenge?”

            “You must be a detective or something, Ms. Winchester.”

            She snorted derisively. “Ha. Shut up.”

            “All right,” the angel said coolly. He took out a small blade—a dagger, maybe—and slit into her median cubital vein. Dark red blood trickled out of the cut. Annabelle tensed at the momentary pain, groaned, but forced the groan into a laugh. She snarked, “Is that the worst you can do?”

            Eyes flashing, the angel came at her again.

-oOo-

Early the next morning, while it was still dark outside, the Doctor, Sam, and Dean were out on the streets searching for Annabelle. As soon as he’d found out Annabelle was missing, the Doctor had alerted the two hunters. Currently, Dean handed the Doctor an angel blade. He said, “Go that way.” The elder Winchester pointed one way down the road, since the blood trail had stopped. He pointed the opposite direction and added, “We'll go the other way. Do you have a phone?”

-oOo-

Instead of nicking her again, like she’d expected, the angel had moved Annabelle to a chair. She fought back with everything she had—and this time, instead of cool liquid seeping into her veins, she was met with pain erupting along the side of her face, her nose, her eye as the angel used his fists.

-oOo-

The Doctor took Martha’s old mobile out of his inside jacket pocket. Normally he kept it either on his person or on the TARDIS’s console. Right now he was glad he’d slipped it into his pocket the last time he was in the old Type 40 timeship. “Yeah, I’ve got one.” He didn’t mention that he’d fixed it so it would work across all of time and space. Rose’s superphone had even worked in the alternate universe they’d renamed Pete’s World. “Here, give me your phones.” He slipped Martha’s mobile back into his pocket, fingered the sonic screwdriver before pulling it out.

            They handed over their cell phones, Sam almost apprehensive about it.

            The Doctor slipped the backs off of both phones, sonicked Sam’s and then Dean’s. He replaced the plastic backings and handed each brother back his phone. “There you go. Now we’ll be able to contact each other no matter where we are—even if there are no cell towers. Or if you happen to find yourself in a different time.” He gave them a cheeky grin before pocketing the sonic screwdriver once more.

            The two Winchesters held their phones almost gingerly. “Right. Thanks,” Dean said. They then quickly exchanged numbers and went their separate ways to search for their missing companion.

-oOo-

Time had passed; she knew that much when she opened her eyes with a low groan. Annabelle quickly stifled the groan, looked around for the angel. With a flash of anger, she saw that his back was to her.

            “What’s the matter?” she taunted, ignoring the stab of pain that came from moving her jaw, from talking. “Too scared to face me?”

            He didn’t move nor answer.

             “Hey! Look me in the face when I’m talking to you!”

            The angel whirled around at that and advanced toward her, eyes glinting and dagger ready. This time he nicked her deeply in the brachial vein, which ran close to the anterior and posterior median cutaneous nerve, and brachial artery. She yelped, unable to hold it in, and a satisfied smile flickered on his lips.

-oOo-

Once Sam and Dean were gone, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver again. Whatever had taken Annabelle would have left an energy signature, and with luck he could trace it. He set the sonic to scan, and soon a beeping noise alerted him to the fact that he’d found the trail.

            The Doctor took off at a jog, silently cursing the fact that the TARDIS was a few— Hang on, it was a few streets over. He grinned, started heading for where he’d left the Type 40. Hopefully, whatever had taken Annabelle wouldn’t account for his frankly magnificent timeship.

-oOo-

The angel continued to beat on Annabelle when she refused to talk, not that he’d ever said what he wanted with her anyway. Every so often he would make a biting comment. She would reply with smug smiles and her usual smartass remarks—she couldn’t help it; it was how she always reacted in tense situations like this. Besides, sarcasm was a natural defense for her.

            “Y’know,” she commented, “your bosses are really going to murder you if you kill me.” She flashed him a smirk. “So think about it a little. Cuz I’m pretty sure you’re more scared of them than anyone else.”

            He just bared his teeth in a silent snarl.

            The next noise she made was one of unbearable pain.

            To be honest, Annabelle wasn’t sure how much longer she could last before her body gave out on her. No one could take this much and still be alive.

            Her thoughts turned to Sam, Dean, and the Doctor. They would find her. They _had_ to.

-oOo-

The Doctor was in the console room tracking the signal as his ship moved through the Vortex. Finally the TARDIS materialized. He ran over to the door, opened it, and exited. It looked like he was at an abandoned railroad station maybe fifteen, twenty miles out of town.

            “Funny sort of place for an angel headquarters,” he mused, taking a few strides forward, eyes taking everything in.

            Inside, the angel had become bored with Annabelle being helpless and untied her. He ordered her to fight him, which only earned him an annoyed eye-roll and a sarcastic, “Why? So you can beat me up some more?” She shook her head. “No. I think I’ll just take my leave now.”

            Annabelle stood up and headed for the door, wincing as her muscles protested from the lack of use.

            The angel immediately appeared in front of her and pushed her hard enough to knock her down. She landed hard on her left shoulder, and a fresh wave of pain accompanied the _pop_ as her shoulder dislocated.

            “I don’t think so,” the angel sneered. “Fight, girl!”

            “Son of a bitch!” Annabelle swore. She refused to move and stayed on the floor; as it was, she couldn’t move her shoulder, so what would be the point in fighting him?

            Outside, the Doctor’s ears pricked up at Annabelle’s curse and he came running. After sonicking the door open, his eyes landed on the angel, the bed, the chair—though what a bed would be doing in an abandoned railroad station, he had no idea. Maybe the angels had teleported it in here?

            Then his eyes took in the state his companion was in, and his cold, angry gaze fixed on the angel. “What did you do to her?” His voice was calm, deliberately calm, yet it didn’t quite mask his quiet fury.

            “Do not worry about the girl. Leave and forget you saw anything.” The angel unsheathed his angel sword as he spoke, having already forgotten about the Doctor. Annabelle saw her chance and lunged, kicking the angel’s feet out from under him. His sword skidded across the floor as, with difficulty, she pulled herself up and ran to grab it. Before she could, the angel flicked his wrist and slammed her against the wall. A whimpering sound escaped her throat seconds before she collapsed.

            The Doctor sucked in air through his teeth. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that.”

            The angel forgot about Annabelle, returned his focus to the Doctor. “And why would that be?”

            Behind him, Annabelle had regained consciousness and was slowly pulling herself toward the sword.

            Now the Doctor made no effort to disguise his fury. “You just seriously injured someone I liked. That is not a safe place to stand,” he snarled. “I’m the Doctor, and I’m sure you lot have the biggest history arsenal in the universe. Go on. Look me up.” _Well,_ he thought, _it worked against the Vashta Nerada. . . ._

            The angel snorted with disdain. “Please. I’m not stupid enough to leave here even for a second, ‘Doctor’. There is absolutely nothing you can do about what’s already been done.”

            Annabelle had the sword now and was struggling to stand.

            The Doctor assumed a devil-may-care demeanor, placing his hands behind his back, somehow managing to look down his nose at the angel, who was a good three inches taller than him. “Well, you really want to test that? Two words, mate: Time Lord. And in case you try anything”—he held the sonic screwdriver up at eye level—“I’ve got this.”

            The angel laughed. “That’s cute. Almost better than Winchester’s remarks.” Said Winchester was inching forward, still unnoticed by her enemy. When she was close enough, she tackled him. Taken by surprise, the angel tumbled with her to the floor where they grappled for a few moments before Annabelle gained the upper hand.

            “Insufferable girl!” he spat.

            She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that so many times. _F_ on creativity.”

            The Doctor watched on impassively, sonic back in his pocket and arms crossed. Annabelle was doing just fine on her own; she didn’t need his help.

            “What’s the worst you can do?” the angel retorted, struggling to throw her off.

            Annabelle’s voice turned thoughtful. “I could slowly torture you if I wanted.” She shook her head and her voice hardened. “Instead I’ll send you back to heaven. Tell your buddies to go to hell!” Without further ado, she stabbed him with his own sword. White light streamed from his eyes and mouth and then faded. Once she was sure he was dead, Annabelle collapsed next to his body.

            “Annabelle!” The Doctor went into motion as he rushed forward, dropped to his knees next to her, began checking her over. “Aw, come on, you’re not giving up now, are you? You still have to see Sam and Dean. They’ll kill me if they think I killed you.” He paused, remembering several incidents with Jackie Tyler and Martha’s mum. “Then again, I’ve had worse. Over 900 years of time and space and I’d never been slapped by anyone’s mother before meeting Rose Tyler. I looked a bit different then, mind you—okay, a lot different, but still.”

            Annabelle gave a short, weak laugh. “Who said anything about giving up? Just give me a minute. I’m fine.”

            “Oh.” Realization struck. “Okay.” Embarrassed, he rose, took a few steps back.

            His teenaged companion lay there for a minute before pulling herself up and looking at her latest kill, whose shadowy wings were now visible. She checked the body for the vessel’s ID, pulled out a wallet and looked at the driver’s license inside. “Poor guy probably had no idea what he was signing up for.”

            The Doctor gave the body a cold look. “I don’t think any of us do, really. Not even me. Anyway.” He pulled out his mobile. “You want to call Sam and Dean, tell them where you are? Or at least that you’re okay?”

            She nodded, took the phone, and dialed. When Sam picked up, she went over her list of injuries with him so that he would have what she needed ready when they arrived. Then she hung up, handed the phone back to the Doctor, and said, “Okay. We have to go back to the house. They’ll take care of me and then we’ll hit the road.”

            He nodded. “Okay. But we’re taking the TARDIS.” Before she could say anything he was already out the door and in front of his ship, one hand already on the handle.

            “Okay.” She shrugged. “Let’s just go.”

            “All right then.” In seconds he was at the console, and the time rotor began moving up and down as the TARDIS dematerialized.

            Sam and Dean were waiting for them outside their house. As soon as Annabelle stepped out of the TARDIS and was inside, the first thing they did was pop her shoulder back into place. She yelped and released a string of curses. Sam handed her a bottle of Dean’s whiskey to help numb the pain; she took a swig. The Doctor watched the scene from where he was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his hearts.

            Annabelle glanced at him but quickly returned her attention to Sam and Dean as they asked her questions and continued tending to her wounds. By the time they’d finished, she was a bit drunk. Of course, she wouldn’t admit to that and headed upstairs to finish packing for the upcoming hunt.

            The Doctor went upstairs to check on her. Standing in the doorway, he noted her movements were clumsy and shaky. “You need some help?” he asked. “I won’t look too hard—promise.”

            “I’m perfectly capable of packing for myself,” Annabelle snapped harshly. After trying for the third time to roll her charger up neatly, she became frustrated and just tossed it carelessly into her bag.

            The Doctor crossed the room and crouched down next to her, rolling the charger up neatly before putting it back, and fixed her with a penetrating look. “You’re sure of that, are you?”

            She moved her hair out of her face with her left hand without thinking and cringed. “Yes! I’m not two years old!”

            “I know that. I’m not saying you are. What I _am_ saying is that you’re not quite in control of yourself at the moment. A bit drunk, if you will.”

            She stopped folding a sweater and glared at him. “I can still function. _I don’t need help_.” Turning away from him, she tossed the few personal items she owned inside her bag, pausing to look at a picture of herself and her family.

            His gaze followed hers, rested on the picture. “Tell me about them. What were they like?”

            “I used to think they were annoying. They just cared about me though. That was my little sister, Lisa. She was eight. My brother, Andrew, he was six. My mom. My dad. They were . . . old.” She pointed out each person as she said their name.

            He scoffed. “And I’m not?”

            Annabelle half-shrugged and put the picture away. She picked up another one, saw it was of her and her boyfriend, Dylan, and quickly set it aside. Right now, she didn’t want to talk about him.

            “So, what’s it like, the hunting?” the Doctor asked, changing the subject. He paused, thinking. “You haven’t met any Vashta Nerada, have you? ’Course not, considering you, Sam, and Dean are still alive, but have you had a case that dealt with them?”

            “I don’t know what a Vashta Nerada is.” She pronounced the name slowly to get it right. “Hunting is like . . . It’s like being a cop or something like that. You’ve gotta kill, but you’re saving innocent people. And don’t judge how hunts go based on if we’re alive or not. The boys have been dead so many times . . .” She shook her head. “They say not to kill a Winchester because they’ll come back angrier than ever.”

            He smiled slightly, remembering a certain companion. “Sounds like someone I know. His name’s Captain Jack Harkness. He’s originally a Time Agent from the 51st century but now spends his time in Cardiff, Wales, in this century and is the head of Torchwood Three, which investigates alien activity and murder cases. Their base is right on top of a rift in time and space, so there’s a lot of stuff coming through. Main point is that he’s immortal. It’s literally impossible for him to die. I’ve lost count at how many times he’s come back.

“As for the Vashta Nerada, they’re in the dark. They’re what’s always in the dark. They are the piranhas of the air. Their name literally means ‘Shadows that melt the flesh.’ And they’re on every world—including this one. Not everyone comes out of the shadows. And you can see them sometimes: The dust motes in sunbeams.”

            “Any hunter will tell you: You should be afraid of the dark.” Annabelle slipped a gun out from under her pillow, took out the bullets, field-stripped it with some difficulty, reassembled it, and set it in her bag.

            “I know. Just . . . count the shadows when you’re out there. They’re not in every shadow, but they’re in any shadow. Any shadow could become infested. Even right here right now.”

            “This house is so heavily warded I’m surprised you could get in.” She grinned jokingly at him. “I’ll keep the shadow thing in mind though.”

            Dean yelled from downstairs, “Almost ready, Annabelle?!”

            “Yeah!” she called back. “Two minutes!” She ducked into the bathroom to grab what she needed from in there.

            The Doctor stood up from his crouching position. “I’ll see you downstairs. I’ll be, um, packing.” By “packing,” he really meant “throwing things in my bigger-on-the-inside jacket pockets.” What the others didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

            “Okay,” came Annabelle’s voice from the bathroom. She finished up and followed him. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go in the TARDIS?”         

            “Well, considering all of my stuff is in there, yes, but I don’t want any angels getting their hands on her. I’ve already had that happen once and I don’t want it happening again. It was with different angels, but still. Besides, this hunt shouldn't take— Oh, right, it’s in Memphis. Stuck in a tiny space for hours on end would drive me mad. I don’t know how you humans do it. And really, that was just to get back here before your friends would skin me alive.”

            “They knew it wasn’t your fault. Our location was compromised. I want to go with you. If you let me I can put this”—she sketched the symbol on a piece of paper—“on the TARDIS. Then _if_ an Angel finds us, that’ll make them disappear.”

            He eyed the paper. “I don’t know if that would work on Weeping Angels; they’re not like your angels, in case you hadn’t noticed. But if we _do_ end up dealing with your angels, yeah, sure, go ahead.

            “Now, for this trip, are we taking the TARDIS or the Impala? I thought we’d already decided on the Impala, and I don’t want Sam and Dean suspecting I’m not . . . well, human.” Under his breath he added, “Probably a bit late for that, though. I’ve already sonicked their phones.”

            “. . . Yeah . . . I may or may not have told them what you are,” she said sheepishly. “But yeah. I’d like to take the Impala.” She gave him an innocent look.

            He sighed. “Fine, we’ll take the Impala.” He looked at her sharply. “You _didn’t_ tell them about me, did you?” Maybe he said it in a whiny sort of voice, but he didn’t care. Besides, Time Lords did _not_ whine.

            “. . . I made them swear not to hurt you.”

            He fixed her with his best wounded-puppy-dog look, knowing it had proven effective with Martha and Rose in the past. And with pretty much every other human female he’d come across—he couldn’t help it that this version of him was so good-looking.

            “Don’t look at me like that! They won’t hurt you, I swear!”

            He dropped the wounded look, rubbed his eye instead in a gesture of defeat. “Okay, okay. If you say so.”

            “Now come on. They’re waiting.” Annabelle practically hopped out the door. He followed her out and down the stairs to where Sam and Dean were waiting.

            Annabelle was already outside setting her bag in the trunk while the boys were in the car. As the Doctor sat in the backseat, Annabelle took a pillow and her Nook out of her bag, slammed the trunk, and climbed in. Dean had a Metallica tape playing.

            “Oh, Metallica,” the Doctor said with a smile. “Nice. I like them, too.”

            “Oh?” said Dean as he started Baby and pulled out onto the road. Annabelle curled up and closed her eyes, feeling safe surrounded by the two hunters and the Time Lord.

            “Yep,” the Doctor replied. “Seen ’em in concert quite a few times back in the ’80s. Same with Def Leppard, Led Zeppelin, Queen, Ian Dury, Bon Jovi, Foreigner . . . They’re brilliant. Much better than what’s on the radio these days, yeah?”

            “Definitely,” Dean agreed.

            “They’ve got some good music out there,” Annabelle mumbled. “You guys heard”—she yawned—“um, ‘Let Her Go’ by Passenger? Awesome song.”

            “No. Shinedown seems okay, though,” said the Doctor.

            “Yeah, they’re good,” Annabelle remarked, struggling to stay awake.

            “Yeah. Then there’s Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Heart, and Pat Benatar.”

            “Man, you really know your bands.” Dean smiled.

            He shrugged. “What can I say? I like classic rock. And when you’ve seen as much as I have, lived as long, then sometimes it’s good just to relax with a great rock band.”

            “Finally! Someone who understands!” Dean exclaimed. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, while Annabelle had fallen asleep.

            The Doctor allowed himself a small smile. “I like you, Dean Winchester.”

            “You’re not half bad yourself, Doctor.”

            “Thanks. You got anything besides Metallica?”

            Dean handed him a tub of cassette tapes. “Pick whatever you’d like.”

            He grinned, started rifling through the tapes. “You’re brilliant, you are. Oh, here we go.” He pulled out Def Leppard’s _Pyromania_ and handed the tape to Dean, who slipped it in. Seconds later, “Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop)” was playing over the car’s sound system. Dean turned it up. Annabelle instantly groaned and rolled over, burying her head in her pillow to muffle the sound of the loud rock music.

            Dean and the Doctor didn’t care, or notice. They were too busy singing along.

            _“Hold onto your hat, hold onto your heart. Ready, get set to tear this place apart. Don’t need a ticket; only place in town that’ll take you up to heaven and never bring you down. Anything goes. I said anything goes. Women to the left, women to the right, there to entertain and take you through the night. So grab a little heat and come along with me. What your mama won’t mind, your mama won’t see. Anything goes. I said anything goes. I said rock, rock till you drop! Rock, rock, never stop! I say, rock, rock to the top! Riding into danger, laughing all the way. Fast free and easy, livin’ for today. Gotta lip service, get it while you can. Hot sweaty nervous love on demand . . .”_

            Annabelle’s breathing had slowed, signaling that she’d fallen asleep despite the Doctor and Dean’s singing. Sam, for his part, had busied himself with his phone the moment Dean had slipped _Pyromania_ into the player.

            Eventually, the song morphed from “Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop)” to “Photograph.” Sam instantly put on headphones to try to drown out the singing coming from both his brother and the alien sitting in the backseat.

            Halfway through the ten-hour drive—during which they’d burned through _Hysteria, Dark Side of the Moon, Slippery When Wet, Jump, 4, Dawn Patrol, Retro Active,_ and _High ‘n’ Dry_ —Dean pulled over to switch spots with Sam so he could catch some sleep. He’d turned the music down as he did so, causing Annabelle to wake up. She asked sleepily, “Are we there yet?”

            “Not yet,” Dean answered. “Go back to bed, kid.”

            “Not tired anymore.”

            “I’m not tired either; I don’t need a lot of sleep,” the Doctor revealed. “I haven’t driven a car in a while, but if you need me to, I can—”

            “It’s all right,” Sam said. “I’ve got it.” Sam smiled as he and Dean switched spots.

            Annabelle sat up and stage-whispered to the Doctor, “Dean’s very protective of his car.”

            “I’d noticed,” he replied in kind. He dropped the hushed tone. “It’s the same with me and the TARDIS. She’s all I’ve got left.”

            “It was the same for him a few times. Hey, Dean, how much longer until we get there?”

            “Another five hours,” was the reply.

            “Can we stop for food, Sam?” she asked.

            “Yeah. Just wait until we get to the next town.”

            “Is there anywhere you'd like to eat, Doctor?” she asked the Time Lord. “Fast food restaurants would be best.”

            “I don’t care. Anywhere’s fine with me.”

            “Okay. Hey, what do you know about vampires?”

            He shrugged. “Feed on blood, killed by decapitation, fire, wooden stake through the heart. Not sure if the sunlight thing is true or not. And they’re descended from the Great Vampires. My people were at war with them over ten million years ago, long before I was—well, not born, exactly, but you get the point.”

            “The stake thing doesn’t work,” Annabelle told him. “The sun thing is half true. It’s more like sunburn than disintegration.”

            “Hhmm. Must be a different strain,” he mused.

            “As far as we can tell,” Annabelle continued, ignoring him, “it’s a nest of fifteen to twenty targeting young women at bars and clubs.”

            The Doctor couldn’t help taking note of the number, as well as the other information. When he’d dealt with vamps before, no matter what strain, the only way they _could_ be killed was a stake through the heart. It seemed like this batch had gotten rid of that particular trait, though he had no idea how. The sunlight variable had varied with each particular group as well. As for the number . . . most covens had fourteen vampires—one more than a Time Lord’s life. Such a large group was rather unusual. He frowned, expression moody, before he said, “Good thing you’ve got me, then.”

            “It’ll be quick,” Annabelle said, beginning to outline their plan for him. “We’ll take tomorrow to rest up and make sure we’ve got everything right. The next night, I’ll get dressed up and go in, see if I can get one of them to take an interest in me. You, Sam, and Dean will watch and follow me. We’ll take the nest out.”

            “Sounds like a plan. Now, did someone say something earlier about food?”

            “Sam, how long?” she asked the younger Winchester.

            “Five minutes.”

            “Okay, thanks.”

            Five minutes later they’d stopped for burgers and fries at a Burger King drive-thru before hitting the road again.

            “So, Sam, Dean,” the Doctor said in between bites of burger, “what got you into hunting?” He swallowed before continuing, “Or is it just the family business, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m just . . . curious.” Finished with the burger, he began working on his fries.

            Dean’s voice became tense, as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Our mom was killed. Sammy was a baby. Our dad was obsessed with finding her killer. We didn’t really have a choice. So . . . family business.”

            “Mmm.”

            “But they’ve both saved so many lives,” Annabelle jumped in, “including mine. It ended up as a good thing.”

            “Mom was a hunter before she met Dad,” said Sam. “So was our grandfather.”

            Suddenly, the Doctor lost his appetite. “My parents . . . they’re both gone. I travel on my own cos there’s no one left. And yes, I’ve saved people, saved worlds, but so many people have also died. I’m not innocent; I’ve taken lives. The worst part is that I got clever, manipulated people into taking their own. There’s a reason my . . . enemies . . . call me the Oncoming Storm.” He whispered to Annabelle, “How much have you told them? **”**

            She whispered back, “That you’re a Time Lord and you saved my life. You’re golden for that. You saved me twice now.”

            Dean was thinking about his time in hell and about failed cases where they’d lost people. “We all make mistakes, huh?”

            The Doctor laughed shortly, bitterly. “You could say that. I caused Pompeii. I _made_ it happen. Everything I do just makes it happen. And if I could go back and save my own people then I would, but I can’t. I can’t cross my own timeline, can’t cross into established events or change fixed points.” He picked absent-mindedly at his remaining fries before handing them up front to Sam and Dean.

            Annabelle gave him a sympathetic look, gently laid a hand over his. Her fingers were calloused from working with guns and other weapons, he noticed vaguely. Quietly, gently, she said, “I’m sure everything is an exaggeration. If trouble follows you, it’s not your fault. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

            He glanced down, slid his hand out from under hers. “You don’t get it. I killed _my own people_ in the war. I’ve committed genocide way too many times, but those are the choices I have to make. Save the world, don’t save the world, but somebody always dies. I’ve even had to make the choice for you lot between dying as a human or living as a Dalek. There’s only been a few times where everybody lives—and those times are very few and far between.”

            “You’re right,” Annabelle said impatiently. “I don’t get it. It’s the same for us losing lives. If these things didn’t kill, we wouldn’t have a job. It’s hard losing someone. I’m not gonna lie—I’ve had nightmares and blamed myself for everything, but that only puts you through hell emotionally and how fair is that? Come on now. You can’t go on holding all this against yourself. It’s just gonna kill you.” Sam and Dean nodded agreement. “Is that what you want?”

            He smiled, darkly. “Why do you think I act so cheerful and maniac all the time, why I’m always running? Never looking back cos I dare not, out of shame. So many have died for _me_ in so many different time periods, on so many different worlds. And I still have nightmares from the Time War, don’t get me wrong. Don’t you ever see the faces of the creatures you’ve killed, come back to haunt you in your sleep? I do. Almost every time I close my eyes.”

            The others were all quiet. Annabelle opened her mouth to say something, decided that nothing she could say this time would help, and closed it again. She was silent for a long time, watching the mile markers fly past. Finally she just wrapped an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders and whispered, “Whatever you’ve done, I forgive you.”

            He turned to her and smiled—even though it didn’t quite reach his sad, brown eyes.

            She gave him a little smile of her own in return. “There’s that smile.”

            He quickly looked away. “So. How much further?”

            She glanced at the highway sign. “Just a few more hours.”

-oOo-

The next night, they were ready to go. Annabelle was dressed in a red tank top and skinny jeans; she’d fixed her makeup so that she appeared to be at least sixteen or seventeen. “You ready to go?” she asked all three men.

            “Yeah,” the Doctor answered. “C’mon.” He was still dressed in his brown pinstriped suit and white sneakers, but he’d changed the tie.

            As Annabelle turned, Dean spotted a bruise on her shoulder and stopped her with, “What’s the plan again?”

            She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and began walking down the street toward the club. “Play drunk. Flirt. Stay in your guys’ view so you can follow me out. I’ve got it.” As soon as she was outside the door, she headed in at a nod from the bouncer.

            The Doctor started to follow her. He was stopped by the black-clad bouncer, who said in a gruff voice, “Hey, who do you think you are? Wait your turn.”

            “Weelll,” the Doctor said, taking out the psychic paper and showing it to the man, knowing it would fill in the blanks for him. The bouncer nodded, stepped back, and let him in.

            “We’re with him,” Dean said quickly as he and Sam followed the Doctor inside. The two of them then went off on their own, searching for vamps. Annabelle already had one guy’s attention. She was laughing at something he’d said, looking purposefully seductive and coy. He bought her a drink, which she reluctantly accepted. They continued in this vein for a while, Annabelle occasionally letting her hand graze his shoulder, hand, or knee. The Doctor had to admit, she was a great actress. If she wouldn’t have been a hunter, she’d missed her calling.

            Eventually, the guy started to lead her out of the club. She stumbled against him a little on purpose. Sam and Dean caught the movement, nodded at the Doctor to follow as the two brothers made their way out of the club.

            So he did, keeping a sharp eye on the vampire at all times. He didn’t like this, _really_ didn’t like it. The Doctor couldn’t help flashing back to the last time he’d encountered a vampire coven, back in 1997 San Francisco. He’d first encountered one of the female vampires, Eva, while she was on a hunt back in ’76. Later, he, Sam, and Carolyn had tracked Eva to her house.

            To this day, he wasn’t sure who had driven the stake through her heart: Eva herself, or him. And right now, he wasn’t sure if the slow anger simmering through him was because of the fact that his ancient enemy was practically shagging his companion right in front of him—which Annabelle was completely going along with, even if it _was_ just an act—or that while his home planet was gone and he was the only one of his kind left, his enemies just kept coming back: Cybermen, Daleks, and now vampires.

            The universe just loved to hate him, didn’t it?

            “Doctor, cool it,” hissed Dean. “We still need to get inside the nest.”

            With a start, he realized that his entire body was tense, jaw set, eyes dark, hands curled into fists with his nails digging into his palms. The Doctor closed his eyes, forced himself to relax and on controlling his body’s reaction. After a few moments, he opened them again and nodded tersely at the brothers. “Okay. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

            By now, Annabelle and the vampire had disappeared into another building with several other vampires. Sam, Dean, and the Doctor waited a few seconds before slipping in after them.

            Dean and Sam would have trouble seeing in the dim lighting, but the Doctor could see clearly—yet another perk of his Gallifreyan physiology that he hadn’t fully appreciated until he’d become human in 1913 to hide from the Family of Blood. He wove through the crowd after the original vamp and Annabelle, not caring if the Winchesters were with him or not.

            Annabelle had been led into a back room. She was still playing the part of a drunken teenage party girl, allowing him to press her back against the wall as he kissed her. Unnoticed, the Doctor crept inside the doorway, not moving until he saw the fangs extend and start to go for the smooth skin of Annabelle’s neck.

            “Get away from her.” His voice was low, deadly, and full of contained rage. He stalked toward the vamp, movements lithe and almost feline.

            The vampire managed to nip Annabelle on the neck before she pushed him away and Sam and Dean came rushing in. They decapitated the vamp, handed the teenager a machete.

            “You okay?” Dean asked her.

            “Violated but fine. Let’s get the rest of them.” She looked suddenly at the Doctor, eyes wide. “Duck!”

            He hit the floor; Annabelle swung the machete and took out another vamp.

            “Okay,” she said. “Now we’ve gotta move. Let’s go!”

            The three Winchesters headed out into the main room. After a couple seconds, the Doctor jumped to his feet and followed them.

            They were surrounded almost instantly. Dean and Sam split away from Annabelle and the Doctor, trying to disperse the crowd, while Annabelle stayed next to the Time Lord. It wasn’t long before Sam and Dean were separated and Dean was cornered. Without thinking, Annabelle ran to help him—which left the Doctor facing his enemies on his own.

            _Thanks for that,_ he thought sarcastically.

             One of the vamps ran his tongue over his fangs as he eyed their latest prey. Another’s nostrils flared as she inhaled his scent. She frowned briefly; then it stretched into a grin. “This one smells delicious.”

            The Doctor fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Would it kill you to come up with something better than that? Oh, wait, you’re already dead. My mistake.”

            She hissed at him, raised a taloned hand. He met her furious gaze without flinching, allowed his own darker side to show through. His own body was tense, taut. Much as he would like to see them pay for their actions, he still felt like he had to give them a choice. _Then again . . ._

            The female vamp lowered her hand, backed away. “Who _are_ you? You look human, but you’re . . . well, not.”

            “I’m a Time Lord,” said the Doctor, “from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous.”

            The vampires gaped at him, showing their fangs.

            “Moreover,” he continued, “I’m a former President of the High Council of the Time Lords, Keeper of the Legacy of Rassilon, Defender of the Laws of Time and Protector of Gallifrey.” _Such as it is._ Somehow, even though a few of the vampires were taller than he was, he loomed over every single one of them. “I’m called the Bringer of Darkness, the Oncoming Storm, and the Destroyer of Worlds. My people fought yours ten million years ago. We annihilated every vampire in existence—with a few skulking, terrified exceptions who crawled away to spread their curse elsewhere.”

            One of the vamps in the back gulped audibly. The Doctor grinned, but there was nothing humorous about it. His eyes glinted. “If any of you harm another human being on this planet, I will personally hunt you down and see that each of you is destroyed. Permanently. Is that clear?”

            None of them said anything, staring up at the ancient enemy. Then, slowly, they started to back away.

            “Doctor!” Annabelle’s voice cried. He whipped around and was suddenly struck hard in the back of the head. He just had time to think _Oh_ before he fainted, collapsing on the floor. Dimly, he heard Annabelle call his name again, followed by “Sam, get over there now!”

            The fourteen-year-old hunter helped Dean free himself—mostly by taking care of the vamps surrounding him—then yelled at the remaining vampires, “Hey! Look at me!” She cut her hand and let the blood flow down her wrist. “Come and get it, guys! I taste good!”

            All the vampires turned their blood-hungry gazes on her. Sam took advantage of their distraction by rushing to check on the Doctor, while Dean helped Annabelle.

            The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, met Sam’s worried gaze. He said, “Relax, Sam, I'm okay! It’s just a little knock to the head.” He let the hunter help him to his feet. “Last time something like that happened to me, I was drugged with perfume—long story,” he added, seeing Sam’s raised eyebrows and amused look. “Okay, fine, my companion Rose and I were in a hospital on New Earth and Rose had been possessed by an old enemy of ours—” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Did you get the other vampires?”

            Annabelle and Dean came over. “Taken care of,” she said, while Dean took a rag out of his pocket and tied it around her hand to stop the bleeding. “Let’s get out of here,” Annabelle added.

            “Sounds good to me,” the Doctor muttered.

            They walked off toward the exit, the Doctor looking back over his shoulder at a few remaining vampires with a warning in his eyes. He turned back ’round when Annabelle asked, “Everybody good? No one hurt?”

            Sam and Dean nodded. The Doctor told her, “I’m fine, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Annabelle dismissed his concern with a wave of her un-injured hand. “It’s just a cut. I'm fine.”  She grimaced. “But would it kill them to brush their fangs? My God! He tasted like blood and whiskey!”

            The Doctor felt his lips twitch in an amused smile. “Well, what did you expect?”

            “I don’t know, maybe a nice minty fresh mouthwash taste or something. It would be pretty hard to pick up girls tasting like that.”

            His smile became a smirk. “Not if you’re a vampire in a Stephanie Meyer novel—though, really, those can’t even be called vampires.”

            She grinned. “Those are a joke but, seriously, gross! I hope none of you are planning on taking showers tonight. I’m gonna need a while to get ode du vampire off of me.”

            The Doctor shrugged. “Time Lord. Superior biology and all that. That being said, I showered yesterday—well, yesterday for me, anyway.”

            “Good.” She spat on the ground. “I can still taste the blood.”

            “All right, then. Let’s get checked into a hotel or something—at the very least get you near a hot water source. D’you know of any nearby? I’m mostly in London whenever I visit this planet.”

            “We’ll go check in to the nearest motel,” Dean said.

            “We’re getting two rooms,” Annabelle informed the Doctor. She hesitated, thinking her next sentence over before adding, “I’ll bunk with you.”

            “Fine.” He slid her a sideways glance. “Just don’t try anything, cos I’m not sharing.”

            “Ha! Trust me, I’m done with physical contact for a long time.”

            He looked distinctly relieved at the news. There was silence for a while as they walked; then they found a motel and checked in. When Annabelle and the Doctor reached their room, Annabelle ducked into the bathroom for a long, hot shower. The Doctor sat down on one of the beds, pulled something out of one of his pockets, and began tinkering with it.

            After she’d brushed her teeth, Annabelle finally came out of the bathroom wearing a huge Stanford hoodie that Sam had given her a while back. “What do you have going there?” she asked.

            He glanced up, tip of his tongue touching the back of his teeth. “Oh, um, dunno. Just keeps my hands occupied, helps me think.”

            “Oh cool. What’s on your mind?” Looking curious, she sat down on the bed opposite him and turned on Sam’s laptop.

            “This whole situation, I guess. Mostly I’m trying to figure out why Sam and Dean’s names sound so familiar . . .” His voice trailed off, then his eyes widened. “Oh! My head is so stupid!”

            “What is it?”

            His words spilled from him in his excitement, becoming faster with each sentence. “Sam and Dean Winchester! Sons of John and Mary Winchester, vessels of the archangels Lucifer and Michael and starters of the Apocalypse!” He stopped, sniffed. “Well, one of them anyway. Still, that’s not the point. They also belong to one of the best hunter families. You’re sure one of their ancestors didn’t work in Torchwood?”

            She shrugged. “Their entire family’s dead.”

            “Oh. Still, no loss. And I’m sorry, so sorry, about the Apocalypse . . . but that’s a fixed point in time. It’s one of the few times where I can’t interfere. Most of the time I can save someone, save everyone, but—” (And he was off having adventures with his other companions at the time—and they’d never been to America in the 21st century.)

            “They cleaned it up on their own. It’s all good. Just uh . . . well, Sam had to jump into the pit but he’s back. We’re all fine. I’ve never heard them mention England before.”

            He stowed his device back in his pocket, leaned back, and laced his hands behind his head. “Well, there were four branches of the Torchwood Institute. Torchwood One was based in London; that’s all gone now. Torchwood Two . . . I don’t remember where that was, Scotland, maybe. Torchwood Three is based in Cardiff, right on top of the rift. Torchwood Four was lost a long time ago. No one knows where it was based. So for all I know it could have been here in America.”

            She stared at him. “Before I met you, aliens weren’t real. They didn’t exist to me or Sam or Dean or any other hunter. I don’t know.”

            He sat up, shrugged. “Like I said before, every species has an irrational fear of the dark. But they’re wrong, because it’s not irrational. It’s Vashta Nerada. Anywhere there’s meat there’s Vashta Nerada. I told you, they could be in any shadow. And they’re clever. They latch onto their prey for a while before devouring it. Some of the bodies you’ve found could have been Vashta Nerada victims instead of anything supernatural. And how do you not remember the Cybermen, Daleks, everyone up on the roof a few Christmases ago? No, don’t tell me, you’re like Donna—you missed it. As for Torchwood Four . . . they’ve been off the grid for so long they could be anywhere, could be completely gone.”

            Her lips pursed together. “A few Christmases ago I was a little girl in Colorado with no care for what was going on in the world. I’m sorry I didn’t see anything about it. If I had . . . I don’t know. A lot has changed. Torchwood Four? You think I can find anything about it on the internet?”

            He shrugged again, half-heartedly this time. “Maybe, but they’re a top-secret organization. Not even the United Nations knows about them. I just know about them because they’ve tried to kill me. Actually, Queen Victoria set up Torchwood after I saved her from a werewolf. In doing so, she made me Torchwood’s Most Wanted.”

            “Oh. I’m sorry about that. You saved Queen Victoria from a werewolf?”

            “Yeah, me and Rose. Technically it was a lupine wavelength haemovariform. We ended up killing it by drowning it in excess moonlight. No one had silver bullets and mistletoe didn’t hold it off for long. Oh, and we discovered how Victoria contracted hemophilia—so the royal family’s a werewolf pack. Afterward she knighted me and Rose and then banished us. How’s that for thanks?”

            Annabelle gave a weary sigh. “They never understand. Feds want Sam and Dean for murder, fraud, breaking and entering, and grave desecration. I’m gonna get some sleep. Goodnight, Doctor.”

            He stretched out on the bed again. “Night, Annabelle. See you in the morning.”

            She nodded, shut down Sam’s laptop, set it aside, crawled under the covers, and was asleep within minutes. Hours later, she snapped awake and threw back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed.

            The Doctor, who hadn’t slept at all, sat up. “What is it?”

            “Just a nightmare. I’m gonna go take a little run and clear my mind.” She dressed, pulled on her sneakers.

            “Have fun.”

            “Will do.” She left the room, started jogging away from the motel.

            Minutes later, a Hispanic woman appeared in the room—and the Doctor was grateful that he didn’t need sleep and was therefore fully clothed. Eyebrows knit together, he said, “Um, sorry, hate to be rude, but . . . What are you doing here?”

            “I’ve come to see you, Doctor.” Her voice had a slight accent—Mexican, maybe. “My girl, Annabelle, has taken an interest in you. That makes you my interest, too.”

            “Really,” he said skeptically. He raised an eyebrow. “And who are you, exactly? Cos she’s never mentioned or described someone who looks like you.” Even as he said it, he knew this was the Zoë Annabelle had mentioned.

            “Oh, I’m sure she has. I’m the center of all of her problems. The dear girl is constantly running from me. Up now, Doctor. It’s time to go.”

            “Aw, do I have to?”

            “Willingly or not, you _are_ coming with me.”

            _Best not to antagonize her, then._ He still couldn’t help commenting dryly, “Yeah, I can see that.”

Zoë slid an angel blade from her coat pocket. “The last thing I want to do is leave your body here for her to discover, but if I cannot get you to come with me that is exactly what will happen.”

 _Might as well go with her, then, see what her plans are._ “Oh, all right then. _Allons-y_!” Seeing her momentary confusion, he added, “That’s French, by the way. Means ‘Let’s go.’”

            “Yes of course, Doctor.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, and the next instant they were in an empty white room. Zoë smiled pleasantly. “Welcome to heaven.”

            He glanced around, wasn’t impressed. “Huh. Nice. Decor could use a little work, though.”

            Other angels popped in. Zoë told the Time Lord, “We’ll be keeping you under surveillance for now. Feel free to chat with my friends here.” Before he could say anything, she vanished.

            _Oh, I’ve_ got _to figure out how they do that._

            One angel took out his sword the instant Zoë was gone, began toying with it and making sure to keep it in the Doctor’s eyesight at all times. “State your name, job, and intention,” he ordered.

            “The Doctor. Doctor. Fun.” Okay, he _really_ had to keep a better watch on his tongue if he wanted to find a way out of this. Problem was, his previous self was supplying all the sassy answers and he didn’t really want to tell himself to shut up. The angels would probably think he was insane.

            “Ah, you’ve got a sense of humor. Funny, Doctor.” The angel smiled dryly.

            “Ta.”

            Meanwhile, Annabelle had returned from her run and was trying to figure out where the Doctor had gone.

            Back in heaven, Zoë had reappeared from wherever she’d disappeared to—gone to grab a bite to eat, maybe. A table appeared behind her, and she leaned against it. Zoë observed, “You are unique. Where do you come from?”

            “Weeellll, that’s a long story. And . . . d’you really think I’m going to tell _you_?” he sneered.

            “Yes, I do, considering I’ve got the upper hand here with an army of angels.”

            Down in the hotel room, the three hunters had called in Cass to help track the Doctor down.

            “Don’t play games with me,” the Doctor muttered, voice rough.

            Zoë flicked her wrist, threw the Doctor against the wall. “Don’t play games with _me,_ Doctor.”

            He stood back up, grinned at her, but there was something scary about it, about his eyes. “You want to know who I am? Fine. I’m the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm. I’m a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous. And normally I’m a good man, but good men don’t have rules. Now is not the time to find out why I have so many.” His voice was low, dangerous. It said: _Do not mess._

            Zoë, however, looked delighted. “Here we go! Thank you! Tell me more. Tell me about you.” She stretched out her hand, pressed him against the wall. Her arm was compressing his chest, making it hard to breathe, but his respiratory bypass engaged. He choked out, “Yeah, sure, if you let me go.”

            She instantly released him, and he felt his bypass disengage. The female angel glared at him and snapped, “Go on, then. Talk.”

-oOo-

Dean, Annabelle, and Sam were about ready to go, dressed as they were for battle in armored vests. Castiel—nicknamed Cass by Dean—had called in some of his followers to help.

-oOo-

“Let me tell you something,” the Doctor snarled at Zoë. “Look up every single major event in history, and my name is mentioned—along with my constant companion. Death. You _really_ don’t want me as an enemy. The Daleks, the Cybermen, Sontarans, Weeping Angels, other Time Lords . . . There’s a reason they all fear me.”  His voice became softer but no less deadly. “As for the Time Lords, they’re gone. I killed all of them.” His dark eyes were as cold as ice, ancient, and burning with fire.

            Zoë laughed. “I’m afraid we were already meant to be enemies. I do not fear you nor do I fear any of the other species you’ve mentioned.”

            At that moment, much to everyone’s shock, Annabelle appeared in the center of the room. The Doctor had never really been scared of one of his companions before, but the fierce look in her eyes suddenly had him praying that he wouldn’t end up on her bad side. Granted, he was the master of dark looks and death glares, but even so . . . He didn’t want to die just yet, especially if there was no chance for regeneration.

            Several of Zoë’s angels moved toward Annabelle. The teen snarled, “If you lay a finger on me, you will regret it.” Her gaze moved to the angel causing her pain. “What’s this, Zoë? Is this your big plan? Kill everyone I meet? Go ahead! Do it! In fact, kill me too! I _will never be desperate enough to help you!_ ”

            There was a terrible glint in the Doctor’s eye as he said to Zoë, “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong about me. Because you should be scared, very, _very_ scared. I’m giving you a chance. You get one warning. That was it. Leave them alone. Leave this planet. If not . . .”

            More people materialized inside the room, including Sam, Dean, Cass, and another angel. Castiel and his angel secured the two angels with Zoë, while a female angel took a step forward to go for their enemy. Annabelle stopped her, noticed with satisfaction that Zoë was frozen in fear. “No. I get this one.” She circled around her nemesis, voice taunting, cold. “What did you expect? No one gets left behind. And you? I can’t wait to get my hands on you!” She stopped circling, went right up in the angel’s face. “Nice slow torture. Consider it emotional compensation for what you’ve done!” To the others she ordered, “Get her out of my sight. Lock her up. NOW!” Annabelle snapped, noticing the stares.

            The Doctor took a step forward, hoping to placate her. “Annabelle, no. You don’t want to kill her, even by torture—or a slow and painful death.”

            She raised an eyebrow, turned on him. “I _don’t_? I _don’t_ want to end this grapple with fate, or the one that kidnapped me and left me to die in the snow with no memory of what happened?! I _don’t_ want to kill the one that caused my—my boyfriend’s death?! SHE HAS TORTURED ME FOR A YEAR NOW! WHY SHOULDN’T I TORTURE HER?!”

            He eyed her for a moment, eyes and expression resigned when he spoke: “I don’t want to have to, but if I do . . . . . . I will stop you.” His expression, his tone, hardened. “As for what to do with her . . . That’s for me to decide.”

            “If you let her go she continues to torment me! I _can’t_ live in peace with her alive! I—if she walks free she’ll just start up the apocalypse again! I can stop this right here right now! So go ahead and kill me if you have to. She _has_ to die.” Annabelle’s body shook with anger, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

            “Oh, I’m not letting her go, trust me on that. The Family of Blood . . . right now, they wish they’d never heard of me. Their matriarch is trapped in the midst of a burning nebula, one that is time locked. Their patriarch is wrapped in chains forged from a dwarf star. Every time you look into a mirror and see someone staring back at you, that’s their daughter. She’s in every single mirror. Her brother . . . he’s frozen in time, set to watch over England. All that because they were hunting me, killed whoever got in their way. They wanted to live forever. So I made sure that they did. And the worst part of it? I was being kind. Fire and ice and rage—the fury of a Time Lord. And I’m not just a Time Lord; I’m the last of the Time Lords. If any of you angels have heard of the Daleks, you should know there’s a reason I’m called the Oncoming Storm. Davros, their creator, has called me the Destroyer of Worlds. And he was right.” His voice was cold, calm, signaling that he was not a person to be messed with.

            “Whatever you want to do with her I want part in it. I _need_ closure. I need this to be over.” There was a small bit of resignation in Annabelle’s voice as she added, “Please. I haven't slept a full night in God knows how long.”

            “Fine. But I’m going to need . . .” He broke off, looked around with a puzzled air. “Hang on, where’s my TARDIS?”

            “Lincoln. Cass can get us there. Cass!” She beckoned the angel over.

            Castiel handed off his angel and walked over. He gave Annabelle a sympathetic glance, but she glared the look right off his face. She told him, “Doctor’s giving you orders. Listen to him.”

            “Yes, right. Hello, nice to meet you.” His voice turned bright as he began talking faster. “There’s this big blue box in Lincoln near the Winchesters’ house. Can you take me there? I’d tell you how to move it, but I’m the only one who can fly her. And I don’t think she’d let you in. She’s very temperamental and picky.”

            “Do you want Annabelle and Zoë to be transported with you?” Castiel asked.

            Zoë murmured to Annabelle, “Got a weak spot for this one after only a few days, huh? Getting soft, darling.”

            “Doctor!” Annabelle pleaded. “Just one cut!”

            “Yeah, might as well,” he said to Cass. “Annabelle . . . well, maybe a little.”

            She grinned wickedly, balled her fists, and punched Zoë right in the face, following up with a swift jab to the abdomen.

            “Stupid girl!” Zoë snarled.

            “Deal with it, bitch,” Annabelle retorted. She looked over at Castiel. “All right, Cass, let’s go.”

            Before the Doctor could even blink, they were on the street not far from his TARDIS. Cass disappeared instantly, which didn’t surprise him. He also wasn’t surprised that Annabelle and Zoë were still bickering, with the angel griping over Annabelle punching her.

            “And if you don’t shut up, I’ll do it again.”

            By now, the Doctor had had enough. “FINGERS ON LIPS!” he yelled, putting his own index finger over his mouth.

            They both shut up. Annabelle crossed her arms defiantly but stayed quiet, while Zoë plastered an innocent look on her face. Seconds later, Annabelle collapsed. Zoë grinned.

            “Oh, come on!” The Doctor glared at Zoë. “You didn’t really have to do that, did you?”

            She shrugged.

            “Bloody angels,” he muttered, half to himself. “I wonder what would happen if you’d met up with one of the Lonely Assassins. Anyway, we’re here. Come on. And _don’t_ touch anything,” he warned, “or do anything telepathically. She won’t like that.” So saying, he opened the TARDIS door and stepped inside.

            Fear flashed in Zoë’s eyes, and she lifted whatever she’d done to Annabelle. The teenage hunter got up, took Zoë’s hand to lead her into the TARDIS, and pulled her hand back quickly. “Ow! What the hell!? You’re burning up!”

            “Yeah, that’d probably be the TARDIS.” He went over to the console, stroked the time rotor. “Lighten up on her, would you, old girl?” he crooned. “She’ll be out of here soon enough.”

“Get in now Zoë,” Annabelle ordered.

 The angel complied; Annabelle followed her in.

            The Doctor was busy at the controls, and, as usual, running his gob. “Now, how about landing on Mars, 2059? On November 21 of that year, the first human colony decides to blow up the base. No one knows why, but it’s a fixed point in time. I don’t suppose you angels would know about that, about fixed points. You lot are so bloody linear. Or, well, what do you want? Eternal life? I could always make your punishment frozen in time if you’d prefer.”

Annabelle tensed. “Doctor, can we talk alone?”

“If you want.” He glared at the angel. “ _Don’t_ even _think_ about touching the console. My ship will let me know about it.” He went off into one of the side hallways, faced Annabelle. “What is it?”

            “They can go through time too,” she told him. “An explosion isn’t going to kill her. She’ll just come back here angrier than ever. She wants Judgment Day—a huge war between Michael and Lucifer. Sam and Dean gave up _so much_ to avoid that. And I don’t trust her. She shouldn’t have complied so easily, getting onto the TARDIS. She’s probably planning something.”     

            “Probably,” he admitted, “but if I put her in a Time Lock, nothing can get in and she can't get out. Not even my own people can get out of one—and we created them. I _could_ always just drop her on an unpopulated planet in some far off galaxy, drop her into a black hole . . . take her to the end of the universe . . . No, bad idea. Depending on what year we land in, the Master will be there.”

            Annabelle took a shaky breath. “Okay. . . . Is there any way you can lock her in the cage without letting Lucifer and Michael out?”

            “The cage?” he asked, puzzled. “What’s the cage?”

            “It’s where Lucifer was originally held in hell until he got out. When Sam got him back in, Michael fell in there, too. They’ve been there ever since. Maybe it’ll show her that she _doesn’t_ want anyone to have to go through what they would if she had reopened the cage.”

            “Maybe, but sticking her in there with the Devil, or at least your version of the Devil? Well, granted, I’ve already seen him. There was this planet orbiting a black hole, and at its center was the Beast . . . Long story short, I set it free. Lucifer doesn’t look anything like this, does he?” He pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket, showed it to her. “And no, I didn't see anyone else down there. Sorry.”

            “No. That looks like what they show you as a kid to scare you. He looked like this then he looked like Sam then he looked like this again.”  She pulled up a picture of Lucifer’s old vessel on her phone.

            “Huh. Well, granted, the thing I encountered was just the body. The mind had possessed this other bloke on the base, Toby, and these creatures called the Ood. Here’s what the Ood looked like.” He showed her another picture.

            “Whoa. Looks like a squid human hybrid thing.”

            “Yeah. And this is what Toby looked like.” He showed her yet another photo, one of the archeologist with red eyes and black markings all over his skin. “I still don’t know what those symbols mean. The TARDIS, she translates everything—except for that and Judoon—but those were old, impossibly old.”

            Annabelle tilted her head, studying the image. “I may have seen it before—” She broke off at a sudden noise from the console room, where they’d left Zoë. “Crap!” She ran to where they’d left her and took out her angel blade. “Don’t move! Hands up, Zoë.”

            The Doctor followed her, sonic at the ready. “I _told_ you the TARDIS wouldn’t like it if you messed with her. She’s the best ship in the universe. _My_ ship. And she’s alive.” There was a loud, angry hum through the room in agreement at his words. Through their bond, he could sense his ship’s displeasure with their latest passenger.

            Zoë smiled. “Doctor, you couldn’t have brought me to all this power and expected me not to touch anything!” Zoë stood looking regal and completely in control. She slid her hand over the console. Annabelle inched toward her. “If you don’t step away,” the hunter snarled, “I will kill you.”

            The Doctor’s voice was dismissive: “Yes, yes, in that case. . .” He didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence before the time rotor was moving, signaling they were in flight. The TARDIS shook, spun, and all of them were thrown off their feet. “WHAT?! I’m not even—!” He glared at Zoe. “I’m really, _really_ hoping this is my ship just taking matters into her own engines. Cos right now we’re in the Time Vortex and I have no idea where we’ll end up.” Personally, he was hoping the TARDIS was doing everything she could to ditch Zoe, much like she did with Captain Jack. He struggled to his feet, made his way over to the console . . . and grinned when he saw where the TARDIS was taking them. _Oh, yes, that could work._

            Annabelle landed wrong, and her angel sword stabbed her in the side. It was not too bad, thankfully, but it still made her yelp. She quickly pulled it out. “Zoë! Stop this now!” Annabelle pulled herself up and towards the angel.

            “Darling, you’re hurt!” Zoë sneered. “Look who’s scared now! You should just sit back and watch the show!”

            “No! See, unlike you, I’m not hungry for power! Unlike you, I’d rather _die_ than see the world end!”

            The Doctor, meanwhile, had managed to stabilize the TARDIS and had taken them out of the Vortex, where they were currently orbiting around a burning nebula. He snapped, “Annabelle, _get away from her!”_

            Without asking, she stepped away from Zoë and moved behind the yellow captain’s chair. The angel was standing in front of the doors, the Doctor noted with satisfaction, though he wanted to wipe the smug look off the angel’s face. Instead, he tilted the TARDIS forward a little and opened both doors. As Zoë tumbled backward, her terrified eyes locked on his.

            “You did this,” he told her, voice cold and eyes black. With one look, one chilling sentence, he let her know why he was called the Oncoming Storm, the Bringer of Darkness.

            Death followed in his wake.

            Zoë snatched at the railings to hold her, but her hands slipped. She fell with a silent scream into the burning nebula below.

            For a moment, Annabelle was almost scared of him. Then a jolt of pain from her side reminded her of her wound. She put a hand over the stab wound, holding pressure, and groaned—it was bleeding pretty badly.

            Hearing her groan of pain, he quickly took the TARDIS back into the Vortex; then walked over to her and picked her up. Ignoring her protests, he started walking out of the console room. “I’m taking you to med-bay. We need to get that checked.”

            “I’ll be fine,” she protested. “It just hurts.” Her lips curved in a weak smile.

            “Well, you’re not fine. Don’t try to pretend you are. Trust me, I’m a Doctor.”

            Annabelle gave a small laugh. “Alright, I trust you.” She relaxed into his arms. “It really sucks that I did this to myself. What kind of a story is that?”

            “Oh, I’ve done worse, believe me.” He opened the door to med bay, set her down on the table. “Where exactly are you hurt?”

            Annabelle took her hand away from her side. Her hand was covered in blood.

            His eyebrows shot up. “Ah, right. Keep pressure on it, obviously.” His hands were already busy, searching for gauze and rubbing alcohol and any number of alien medicines he’d picked up in his travels that would help the wound heal. Once he’d collected everything, his hands started to work on mending her wound.

            Annabelle couldn’t help it—she tensed and moaned with pain as soon as he touched it. “Ow! God! I don’t suppose you’d let me drink it numb?”

            The Doctor shook his head. “Sorry, no. I think I have some painkiller around here, if you’d rather have that. I’ve seen you drunk, remember, and you’re too young to be having alcohol anyway.”

            “Painkillers. Please.”

            “Okay.” He turned back ’round, set up a syringe. “This’ll hurt a little,” he warned before he inserted the needle, pressed the plunger, and withdrew the hypodermic syringe. “There. It should take effect right about . . . now.”

            Annabelle’s eyes closed and she slumped back in a dead faint. Her deep breathing informed him that she was out cold.

            “Well, that’s one way to do it,” the Doctor said quietly. “Now, let’s see . . .” He busied himself with tending to the stab wound and was done six minutes later.

            Annabelle was going to be out for a while, so he went back into the console room and set the coordinates for the United States in 2014.

            His companion woke slowly and stumbled into the console room once she was alert enough. “Doctor?”

            He looked up from the controls, lips twitching in a smile at seeing her up and moving. “Yeah?”

            “Thanks.”

            “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat, glanced away. “Anyway. Right now I’ve set the coordinates to take us to the United States in 2014. Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

            “Let’s try River Grove, Oregon,” she said.

            “Okay, then.” He entered the coordinates, yanked down a lever. “Hang on!”

            Annabelle grabbed hold of the rail on the console and refused to let go. “I should warn you about what went down there . . .,” she began.

            He looked over, curious. “What?”

            “There was this disease called the Croatoan virus. It basically makes people zombies, and it’s spread through blood, and then the entire town disappears. So, uh, there shouldn’t be anything living there at all—just an abandoned town.”

            “Oh, you’d be surprised. Time can be rewritten. And honestly, knowing me, when we land, someone will be there. Mind you, I’m not entirely sure _when_ we’ll land. The TARDIS usually has her own ideas about that. Once I wanted to take Rose to Sheffield, England, 1979 to see Ian Dury and the Blockheads and we materialized in 1879 Scotland instead. This was when we helped Queen Victoria with the werewolf.”

            “Okay. Either way we need to be very careful.”

            He looked affronted. “I _am_ careful!”

            “I wasn’t saying you’re not,” she backpedaled. “We just need to watch our backs is all.”

            “I figured that out on my own, thanks,” the Doctor said sarcastically. He mused, “It wouldn’t hurt to count the shadows either.”

            “Okay, so count the shadows and don’t get turned into a zombie. Got it.”

            “Yeah, well, like I said: Vashta Nerada, you can see them sometimes—the dust motes in sunbeams. And when you do . . . run. Just run.”

            “Got it.”

            He shrugged. The slight thump told him that his ship had materialized. “We’re here. Let’s go check it out!” Without waiting for her response, he bounded down the metal grating and opened the door.

            Outside, a couple yards away, was a man with mottled and bruised skin staring hungrily at them. Annabelle said nervously, “Uh Doctor . . . I’d like to get a gun if you wouldn’t mind . . .”

            He swallowed. “Normally I can’t stand guns, but in this case . . . Go ahead.”

            She pulled him back into the TARDIS and slammed the door. “I’ll go get my gun. I think I’ve got a spare. You wanna use it?”

            He shook his head. “No. I won’t, I can’t. I’ve always done just fine with the sonic, and who knows, I might be able to cure them.”

            “All right. I’ll be right back.” Annabelle went into her room, grabbed her gun out of her bag, and returned to the Doctor. “Okay, I’m ready.”

            “All right, then.” Carefully, he stuck his head out the door, looked around. His heartbeats slowed in relief when he saw that the man was gone.

            “Go on,” Annabelle said from behind him. “I’ll watch your back.”

            He stepped out of the TARDIS, took a few strides. “I don’t see anyone. Do you?”

            A sharp cry had Annabelle turning to the left.

            There was a house standing there.

            “The house,” she said. “Someone’s in there. Let’s check it out.”

            The Doctor headed over, tried the door, and found it locked. “Hang on, just let me . . .” He fished out his sonic screwdriver, aimed it at the lock.

            Both of them heard a kid crying inside. Annabelle put a hand over the Doctor’s and said, “No stop. You’re scaring them.” She spotted a broken window. “I’ll go in through there and let you in. Sit tight.” Without waiting for his response, she climbed through the window and unlocked the door. “Come in,” she invited.

            He pocketed the sonic. “Oh, come on,” he complained. “It doesn’t normally take _that_ long to open a door! The lock isn’t even wood!” He sighed but followed her in anyway.

            A hallway stretched out in front of them. To their right was a living room; to the left was a kitchen. A stairway was just visible off the hallway on the right. The Doctor and Annabelle followed the sound to a closet. When Annabelle opened the door the little girl hidden inside screamed in fright.

            “Hey, sshh, it’s okay,” Annabelle soothed. “We’re here to help. We’re the good guys.”

            “Police?” the little girl asked tentatively.

            The Doctor knelt down, flipped out the psychic paper. “Yeah, we’re the police. What’s your name? Can you tell me what happened?”

            “Mommy and daddy were sick,” was all she could say.

            “What’s your name, sweetie?” Annabelle asked in a talking-to-little-kids voice. “We’ll find your mommy and daddy and make sure they’re okay.”

            “I’m Beth.”

            The Doctor gave her a reassuring smile. “Hi, Beth. I’m the Doctor and this is Annabelle. Like she said, we’ll help your mum and dad. But for now we need you to tell us what happened to them. Can you do that?”

            Beth shook her head and clammed up.

            “Beth,” said Annabelle, “I know it’s hard but it’s really important that you tell us.”

            She hesitated before speaking. Even then her voice was timid, choppy. “They were sick and then they got hungry so they went to the store for food. A strange man tried to break in. He wanted to hurt me.”

            “Well, it’s okay now,” Annabelle said reassuringly. “We’re here. Come with us. We’ll find somewhere safe for you to stay.”

            The Doctor stood up and held out a hand. Beth reluctantly took it.  He said, “It’ll be okay, Beth. C’mon. Is there any other family you can stay with?”

            “Doctor, it’s not safe,” Annabelle informed him. “Let me take her. I’ll get her somewhere safe where they can’t get in, okay?”

            He thought it over for a few seconds, finally nodded consent. “Okay. Meet me back here—and please, don’t do anything stupid.”

            “I won’t, promise. Come with me, Beth.”  She opened her hands. Beth came to her, and she picked Beth up. “I won’t be more than an hour.”

            As they left, Annabelle chatted with the six-year-old. She found a storm shelter, made sure it was empty, and gave Beth her jacket to keep her warm and her phone to keep the little girl busy. Then she locked the place up and headed back to the house.

            Croatoan victims were surrounding the front side of the house when she arrived. Annabelle crouched in the bushes across the street and watched, praying that they wouldn’t go in.

            The Doctor, alerted by a sudden noise, made his way to the nearest window and glanced out to glance out. His hearts quickened when he spotted the three victims lurking around the outside of the house. “Ah. Back way, then,” he decided. Silently, he slipped out the back door and circled around, praying they hadn’t seen him as he legged it.

            Annabelle whistled to get his attention and waved.

            He turned and sprinted toward her, gravel spraying up from under his feet. “Run!” he hissed.

            She stopped him and gestured toward the victims. “Look! Now you’ve got their attention. Either lay low or fight.” Before he could say anything, she had approached the victims and punched each of them out. Once they were out cold on the ground, she turned back to him. “Now we need to assess our situation and find a cure. That little girl isn’t going to lose her parents. Got it?”

            His jaw tightened. “I’ve got it,” he said shortly. “Let’s just go before they wake up, yeah?”

            “That house is safe enough. I’m sure they’ve got a basement. We’ll stay down there. Come on.”

            He followed her downstairs, looking back over his shoulder to keep an eye on the Croatoan victims.

            Once they were downstairs, Annabelle locked up the basement, all but boarding them in, and lit a few candles.  Then she began going through her possessions. “Okay so I’ve got a gun”—she showed it—“and four bullets only for use in an emergency.” She emptied the clip and set the gun on the table next to them. Then she pulled a black leather wallet out of her pocket, opened it. “And lock picks. What’ve you got?”

            “I’ve got . . .” He patted his pockets. “I’ve got”—the Doctor reached inside his suit jacket, started pulling out stuff—“my sonic screwdriver; a banana—don’t drop that, it’s an excellent source of potassium—my timey-wimey detector; psychic paper; mobile; everlasting matches; bio-damper; collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories; my TARDIS key; a yo-yo; cricket ball; Jelly Babies; handcuffs—don’t ask, long story; a torch—sorry, flashlight; dagger . . . and, oh! Forgotten I’d had these. They’re from a hospital on New Earth, but I don’t know how long they’re good for.”

            Annabelle jumped on it. “Well it’s worth a try, right? Let me grab one of the victims. We’ll try it.”

            He shook his head. “We can’t. Right now we should just get in the TARDIS and leave. We really should.”

            Annabelle stared at him in disbelief. “And leave a scared little girl locked up in a storm shelter where she’ll _die_ if we leave knowing that we _lied_ and we weren’t going to help her?” She crossed her arms over her chest, a stubborn look in her gray eyes. “I’m not leaving until we’ve found a cure. Between you and the angels someone has to know something.” There was a slight tremor in her voice, and she forced herself not to show much emotion. She couldn’t afford to, not now.

            The Doctor’s eyes were resigned, and for the first time she could actually sense how old he truly was. “This is a fixed point in time. What happens here must always happen. I’m sorry, but it’s one of the rare times where I can’t interfere. Most of the time, I do. I can save someone, or several someones, but not this time. I really am sorry, Annabelle, with all my hearts.”

            Annabelle looked devastated, and he tried not to notice. “If she manages to survive and find help they’ll lock her up in some institution and call her crazy. She _can’t_ grow up without parents, Doctor. We’ve gotta do something! You can’t just give up on this town! By this time tomorrow every person will have disappeared! Wiped off the map! We have to do something! I’m not leaving!”

            He sighed, deciding not to argue with her—not yet, at least. For now, he might as well try to find out all he could about this Croatoan virus. “Do you even know what caused this virus? You said it spread through blood, but how? You’re sure it’s not water? Cos your species is seventy percent water. If it _is_ in the water . . . just one drop, that’s all it takes. One drop. And water is patient. Water can wait.” He was thinking about another accident, one on Mars in 2059. The details were murky, but he had a feeling it had something to do with water.

            Annabelle shook her head. “Blood. The victims cut themselves and cut whoever they can catch. They mix the blood and the virus is spread. The lost colony of Roanoke had Croatoan. No one knows how it started.” She muttered, “I bet God would if he’d just freaking show up!”

            The mention of God had the Doctor’s ears perking up. “God? So, what, he’s done a runner or something, has he? As for Roanoke . . . That rings a bell.”

            Annabelle explained, “God abandoned humanity and angels. Heaven wouldn’t be at war if He hadn’t ditched everyone.” She quickly changed the subject. “What about Roanoke rings a bell?”

            “Not quite sure. But as for your God problem . . . you haven’t met a bloke named Chuck, have you? Or Charlie or whatever. Knows all these details about Sam and Dean’s lives . . .”

            “. . . I’ve heard of Chuck,” Annabelle said slowly. “. . . He disappeared after the whole Lucifer and Michael thing. He _was_ a prophet. Dead now.” She abruptly changed subjects again. “Let me see the New Earth stuff. I want to try it on one of them.”

            The Doctor hesitated before handing it over. “Look, this medicine from New Earth . . . they had medicine for every single type of disease, but that was only because the Sisterhood was growing their own humans with only one purpose: to be sick. And sorry, but I don’t think this virus was one of the ones they’d encountered. And the way this turns out . . . there _is_ no cure. I’m sorry; there’s nothing we can do.” Not wanting to talk about it, he said, “As for Chuck . . . Are you _sure_ he’s dead? You said it yourself, he’s disappeared.”

            Annabelle moved to sit on a chair in front of the table and rested her head in her hands. “Yes. I’m completely sure because there’s a new prophet. Only one prophet can be alive at a time.” She sat up straighter as an idea hit her. “I’m calling Cass in. Maybe he can do something.”  Leaving the Doctor sitting at the table, she opened up the basement and went into the kitchen, gathering the herbs she needed to summon Cass.

            _Well, there goes my theory of Chuck being God, then,_ the Doctor thought. While he waited for Annabelle to return, he began putting everything he’d taken out back into his suit jacket pockets—except for the sonic.

            His companion came back into the basement with a bowl of herbs a couple minutes later before he could put everything away. “Can I borrow that dagger?” she asked.

            “Yes.”  He eyed her suspiciously. “What for?”

            “Watch and learn, Time Lord,” she said smugly.

            He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table, and watched as she picked up the dagger, cut her hand, and let some blood drip onto the herbs in the bowl. She muttered a spell in Latin then lit the whole concoction up. There was a flash, but no one appeared.

            Her face fell in a mixture of confusion and panic. “I . . . I did everything right! I’ve done this a thousand times!”

            He raised an eyebrow. “Wow, I’m impressed,” he drawled. “Now, just out of curiosity, what was supposed to happen?” The Doctor couldn’t resist smirking at her.

            “Don’t you dare give me that amused look right now!” Annabelle snapped at him. “That spell summons angels. That means Cass . . .” Her voice gave out for a minute. When she found it again, it came quietly. “Cass is dead.”  Annabelle paced until she regained her composure. “Pack up,” she ordered. “We’re gonna get Beth and we’re gonna find Sam and Dean.”

            The Doctor didn’t move. “Or maybe he’s not dead and is occupied with something else at the moment. For all we know, he’s human.”  He shrugged. “It’s happened to me before.”

            “Either way, we’re finding Sam and Dean. Let’s go before I go insane with worry.”

            “All right, all right.”

            “Come with me to get Beth?” she said hopefully.

            He sighed. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

            “No one deserves to die so young or have to go through losing everything at such a young age. I’ll find a way to help her no matter what.”

            He fixed her with a look that was half annoyed, half pissed-off. “What part of ‘fixed point’ don’t you understand? We _can’t do anything_ to interfere.”

            “WELL, I’M NOT LEAVING HER TO DIE! What don’t _you_ understand about that?! I’m not going to forget her and walk away! Out of everyone in the universe—!” She stopped herself. “I’m going to get her. I’m gonna keep her safe. If you’ve got a problem with that, then leave me here to survive on my own!” Annabelle stormed out of the house angrily, without waiting for him.

            “ANNABELLE!” the Doctor yelled after her.

            She didn’t stop.

            The Doctor went after her, gripped her arm, and forced her to turn around. He had to make her understand. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to save them. If I could go back and save my own people I would, but I can’t, I just _can’t_! And this event, this town’s destruction, it’s fixed in time forever. There’s nothing I can do to change that. I’m sorry, but all of the people here . . . they’re going to die.” She said nothing, just stared stonily at him, mutiny written all over her face. “If you don’t think I have the right to decide, well, here’s three words for you: TARDIS, Time Lord, yeah!” He couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d said those words, and Donna’s reaction: _“Donna, human, NO.”_

            She’d broken down somewhere along the line and was crying now. “But Beth isn’t affected. She’s okay. If we leave her . . . No one will look. She’ll die alone in a cold damp cellar of hypothermia or dehydration or starvation but not Croatoan because they can’t get to her. What then?”

            Slowly, the anger drained out of him. His brown eyes were so ancient, so sad. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, but they _will_ get to her. _Everyone_ in this town gets infected. Then—no one knows why or how—the whole town, it just . . . it’s completely destroyed. It’s not just the fact everyone’s gone; it’s more than that.”

            “That’s not fair,” she sobbed. “It’s not fair!”

            His eyes were distant now as he focused on the timeline. “I’m not even sure I know who . . . Oh, yes, I do—Dean Winchester and his little band of fighters. If you still want to find them . . .”

            She nodded. “Let's just go.”

            He let go of her. “You first. You know Dean better than I do. Where would he be hiding out?”

            “I don’t—” Then she realized what he’d said. “He? What about Sam?”

            He sniffed, averted his gaze. “Let’s just go already. You’ll find out soon enough.”

            “. . . Okay.” Annabelle dried her eyes. “They’ve got safe houses everywhere. . . . I looked through Dean’s hunter’s journal once. He said something about a camp his future self was in when Zachariah sent him into 2014. I know where it is. We can check there.”

            “Okay. You take the lead then.”

            “We’re gonna need a car or something unless your TARDIS does road trips.”

            He smiled. “Oh, she does. Not often, but she does.”

            “Okay. We’re going to Camp Chitaqua in Kansas City.”

            The Doctor nodded, started walking toward where he parked the TARDIS. “Got it.” Once inside, he went to the console, worked at the controls. After five minutes had passed, he looked up and said, “Well… we’ve landed.”

            “Stay here,” Annabelle said. “I want to talk with him alone.” She didn’t wait for him to reply and went outside. It was silent for a few minutes until gunshots went off and Annabelle screamed. She ran back into the TARDIS and hid behind the Doctor for a moment, clearly shaken. “What’s wrong with this world?! He just tried to kill me and Sam wasn’t there!”

            He looked behind him, searching for her, and then turned around so he was facing her. “I’m sorry, Annabelle, but . . . Look, there’s a way I can show you, but it means I’ll have to go inside your mind. Would you be okay with me doing that?”

            She didn’t hesitate. “Do it.”

            He brought his fingers up to her temples, closed his eyes in concentration. “If there's anything you don’t want me to see, imagine a door closing over it. Now . . . this is what I see when I concentrate on this timeline, this year.”

            Images flashed in Annabelle’s mind: future Dean; Sam—except he wasn’t Sam, he was Lucifer; an unshaven, human Castiel; Dean, Cass, and another guy walking along an abandoned street with rifles slung over their shoulders; _Croatoan_ painted in red on the side of a building; Lucifer’s boot pressing down on Dean’s neck. She heard Sam’s voice say, “You will always end up here.”

            Annabelle jumped back when Sam/Lucifer snapped Dean’s neck and yelped. Tears filled her eyes.

            The Doctor dropped the connection, stared at her with horrified eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

            “No, I was gonna find out anyway.” She gave him a feeble smile. “No use in shielding me. I just . . .” Her shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug.

            The Doctor didn’t say anything, just looked at her for a long moment. Then he was pulling her into a hug.

            Her body shook with a sob, but she welcomed the hug. “Promise you won’t leave me,” she said quietly. “You’re all I have left.”

            “I won’t, but . . .” His voice trailed off. How could he make this promise again? He’d promised Rose, and he’d lost her.

            “But?” Annabelle prompted.

            “Annabelle, I’ve traveled with people before, and they’re all gone. Some of them leave because they should, or they find someone else, or they forget. You can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can’t spend the rest of mine with you, or with any of my companions. I have to live on, alone. Humans . . . you have such short lives compared with me, or with any other Time Lord—or even your angel friend, Castiel. My companions . . . in the end, I suppose they break my hearts.”

            She was quiet for a long time. Finally she said, “We . . . could always pick up an angel friend . . . When I’m gone you’ll always have someone. I don’t want you to be sad . . .” She broke off, smiled a little, and raked a hand through her light-brown hair. “That sounds so childish . . .”

            The Doctor shook his head. “No, it’s all right. Really. It’s better on my own. That way, no one dies. Usually.”

            “Maybe you and I can go find somewhere where just once everyone lives and stay there,” she suggested. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

            “. . . Or we could go try and talk to Cass and Dean again. It’s worth a shot. And see what's up with Luci— I mean, Sam.”

            “That wasn’t Sam anymore. That was Lucifer. Dean wants my head on a stick.” Her voice broke. “He said I . . . abandoned them and it’s my fault.”

            “Actually, technically, that wasn’t your fault. It was mine. So I’ll just . . .” He headed toward the TARDIS doors.

            Annabelle jumped in front of him, blocking the doors. “Don’t be stupid. It’s not your fault or mine. They’re armed with all the guns they can find and they _will_ kill you. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

            Somehow, he managed to maneuver so that he was at the doors and she was up the metal ramp. “And I don’t have guns. Which makes me the better person, don’t you think? They can shoot me dead, but the moral high ground is mine.”

            “Please don’t,” she pleaded. “What am I supposed to do if you go and get yourself killed?”

            _Right, time for a change of tactics._ “Well, how about we investigate this Croatoan thing, eh? Or at the very least we can talk to Cass. I’m pretty sure he’s stoned at the moment. If we can land inside his place . . .” The Doctor went back over to the console, called up some images on the monitor. “D’you think you’d be able to tell which one belongs to Cass?”

            Annabelle followed him, looked over his shoulder. “Uh maybe . . . He said something about an orgy though . . . That may be—”

            She broke off at the sound of someone pounding on the door.

            “Annabelle! I know you’re in there!” a male voice said. “It’s Chuck! I wanna talk! Open up!”

            Her eyes widened. “Could it really be him, Doctor?”

            He looked up from the monitor, over at the door. “Yeah. Maybe. Why don’t you open the door and find out?”

            She cautiously opened the door, and Chuck let himself in. “Whoa,” he said, looking around the larger space. “Didn’t predict this one . . .”

            “You . . .  were dead . . .” Annabelle said, slightly in shock.

            “Oh, so you’re Chuck,” said the Doctor from the yellow captain’s chair. “Nice to meet you. I’m the Doctor, and you already know Annabelle. So, what’s the story?”

            Chuck said, “I took some time off and they decided I was dead. Cass started a war in my home and—”

            “I’m sorry, what?” Annabelle interrupted.

            “Cass started a war in my home.”

            “Cass started a war in heaven . . .” Her eyes widened. “You’re God?!”

            “Hah! I knew it!” the Doctor crowed.

            Now that the shock had worn off, Annabelle was mad. She poked Chuck in the chest and yelled, “You abandoned us! Where were you!?”

            “Hiding. Chill out. I came back, right?”

            She raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”  

            The Doctor grinned excitedly. “Oh, but this is brilliant! Where were you hiding, exactly? The Void? Alternate universe?”

            “I’ve been hiding . . . Well what fun would giving up my secret be?”

            “Never mind that,” Annabelle interrupted. “You’re here. The world is ending.”

            “I think he knows that by now,” the Doctor pointed out sarcastically. “And really, the world doesn’t end until the year five billion. Sun expands, the Earth gets roasted. There’s a big nostalgic movement, and the humans out in space find New Earth. Main city is New New York. Well, technically it’s the fifteenth since the original so that would make it—” They stared at him. “Sorry. I was rambling, wasn’t I? People usually stop me when I’m rambling.”

            “Rambling won’t stop Croatoan,” Annabelle said. “Chuck?”

            “I can’t stop it myself. I’m supposed to be negotiating to take you two as prisoners.”

            “So tell us how to stop it,” she implored him. “I’m not giving in to that homicidal maniac.”

            The Doctor cut in, “Um, sorry, taking us prisoners for who, exactly?  I’m guessing either Lucifer or Dean, yeah?”

            Chuck said, “Dean. He wants you dead.”

            The Doctor scoffed. “That’s not gonna happen. But . . . if we could just talk _without_ anyone being shot, I’m all for that.”

            “I’ll see if I can talk him down.”

            “Give him this,” said Annabelle. She took out the gun she had earlier. “The Colt. Remind him of it. Tell him it’s a peace offering.”

            “I’d like to come with you, if you don’t mind,” the Doctor said to Chuck. He turned to Annabelle. “ _Stay_ in the TARDIS. _Don’t_ wander off. ’Sides, it’ll give you time to explore.”

            Annabelle handed the gun to Chuck then hugged the Doctor. “Be careful. He’s . . . different now.”

            The Doctor fixed her with an unreadable look. “I know.” Then he turned and left. Chuck followed him.

            Once outside the TARDIS, Chuck took him directly to Dean’s cabin. Dean had a cold look in his eyes and aimed a gun at the Doctor as soon as the Time Lord entered.

            “Whoa!” Chuck exclaimed. “Dean, don’t shoot. They don’t want anyone to get hurt. He wants to talk, and look what Annabelle brought for you.” He showed Dean the Colt. “Let’s _try_ to be civilized for once.”

            “Let me see the Colt,” Dean demanded.

            Chuck handed it over.

            Dean still hadn’t taken the gun from the Doctor’s head. The Time Lord remarked, “Actually, chat’s second on my list, the first being gun, pointed at my head. Which then puts my head second and chat third, I think. Gun, head, chat, yeah. I hate lists. But you could hurt someone with that. Put it down.”

            “I don’t know,” Dean said thoughtfully. “I think we can chat like this, don’t you? But”—he switched the first gun for the Colt—“I did miss my old gun.”

            All the Doctor knew was that 1) he had to appeal to Dean’s good side, and 2) he had to convince Dean to take the gun away from his head. So he said, “You want to know about Annabelle, don’t you? Well, she’s safe. She’s somewhere the Croatoan victims can’t touch her.”

            “She’s not my concern anymore.” Dean’s voice was icy. “I’ve got more mouths to feed. More people to keep safe. People who _will_ come back every evening. Well . . . most of them anyhow.” His mouth spread in a cold grin.

            The Doctor abruptly changed tactics. “Dean, I’m trying to _help_ you. And you should take my word for it, because right now, my word’s all you’ve got.”

            “Don’t jump to conclusions, Doctor. I’ve got my army and Chuck and Cass.”

            “And Annabelle,” the Doctor reminded him. “She’s in the TARDIS right now. It wasn’t her fault that she left, it really wasn’t.”

            Dean tightened his grip around the gun. “Why am I not killing him again, Chuck?”

            “Dean stop,” the prophet said ( _The prophet who’s actually God,_ the Doctor reminded himself). “Listen to him. She’s out there and she’s scared of _you_. You’re the monster here.”

            “I do what I have to.”

            The Doctor fixed him with his best Oncoming Storm glare. “So did I in the Time War. Dean, two almighty civilizations were _burning_. You say you’ve killed a lot of monsters, that you _should_ be killing me? And I’m guessing, if they’d lived, you would have ended up killing a lot of renegade Time Lords. Well fear me. I’ve killed all of them.”

            “Because you had to? Then you’d understand,” Dean shot back. “I do what I have to. This is the apocalypse!”

            “Yes, but the world _doesn’t_ end here. I’m a time traveler, remember?  And right now, the timelines . . . they’re all converging on you. You and everyone else, you _survive_ this, Dean. Even Sam.” Okay, yes, he was lying just a little (more like a lot), but he hated guns being pointed at his face. “He’s your brother. Don’t you remember that? And please, put the gun down.”

            “He’s not Sam anymore. He’s Lucifer.” Dean lowered the gun somewhat apprehensively.

            “Thanks,” the Doctor told him. He clasped his hands together, rocked back and forth on his heels. “So! What’s the situation?”

            “A few of the guys went out on a mission. They’ll be back soon.” Dean didn’t offer anything else.

            “Mmm. What sort of mission?”

            “Taking out Croatoan victims. Raiding the town for supplies.”

            “Ah. How widespread is this virus?”

            “The entire country and spreading farther.”

            The Doctor muttered a curse in Gallifreyan. “I really, really should go . . .” he murmured under his breath.

            “We’ll give you ten minutes to get out of here,” Dean offered.

            Just then, the mission crew came back. One guy called out, “Dean!”

            “Got good news for me?” he asked.

            “Afraid not. We got supplies, but that’s about it.”

            Dean looked over each of them for a few minutes before he took out the gun and shot one of them.

            The Doctor took a step forward. “You didn’t have to do that!”

            “Yes I did. She was infected.” Dean said it emotionlessly, and anger churned inside the Doctor.

            “The only reason you’re still alive right now,” he growled, “is because I’m being very, very calm. Right now, compared to you, Dean, the _Cybermen_ have the moral high ground—and that’s not something I say lightly.” His voice grew louder. “You couldn’t even tell she was infected!”

            “When you’ve been around Croatoan as long as I have you can see the symptoms! She was infected!” Dean ordered the team, “Get her out of here. You know what to do with the body.”

            Once they were gone (Chuck went with them) the Doctor mused, “This Croatoan virus . . . it’s clever. It could have chosen the insects or the animals, but it chose the humans. Why?”

            “I’m guessing that's what it’s meant for. Humans,” Dean answered.

            The Doctor switched gears, sounding almost like an actual doctor as a thought occurred to him. “Dean, tell me, when someone’s infected, how long does it take for the virus to manifest? Immediately? Or does it vary?”

            “Three hours before they become blood thirsty. Twenty four before they disappear.”

            “Like I said, it’s clever. If someone didn’t know what was wrong . . . It stays hidden inside until an opportune moment—or so I’m guessing. But why? What does it want? What do _they_ want?”

            “They want death,” Dean snapped. “That’s it! Nothing else!”

            “You’re sure of that, are you?”

            Dean glared. “Yes. I’m completely sure,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

            “Hhmm. Could you show me around camp, at least? . . . Hang on, what about UNIT? Aren’t they doing anything?”

            “I’ve never heard of them,” Dean said. “The military just shoots everyone in sight down.”

            The Doctor let out a snort. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? And honestly, that sounds like something both UNIT and Torchwood would do.”

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you want to tour the camp do it on your own.”

            “All right, then. Where’s Cass, by the way? I’d like to see him.”

            “Third cabin to the left. Knock before you go in.”

            “’Kay. See ya.” The Doctor left as Dean turned his attention to a map hung up on the wall. He headed over to Castiel’s cabin and knocked on the door. “Cass?”

            Cass was lying on the floor or on a chair or some other piece of furniture. The Doctor couldn’t quite make it out because the other man was surrounded by half-naked women. Cass said to them, “Excuse me. It looks like we’ve got a visitor. Why don’t you all go get washed up for the orgy?” The women left and Cass eyed the Doctor, a cheesy smile on his face. “I don’t believe I know you.”

            “Yeah, well, you only met me the once. In heaven? You teleported me, Annabelle, and Zoe to my TARDIS and then took off. I’m the Doctor, by the way. Hello.”

            “Oh yeah.” Cass giggled—actually _giggled_. “The Doctor. Now I remember. Said you’d take care of Zoë and never showed back up.”

            He shrugged nonchalantly. “I chucked her into a burning nebula, and then Annabelle made the decision to come here. Sorry to disappoint you.”

            “Annabelle . . .?”

            The Doctor dragged his hands down his face. “Blimey, you’re wasted, aren't you?”

            “Generally, yeah.”      

            “Annabelle, Sam and Dean’s adopted sister? Fourteen, gray eyes, light-brown hair. Ring a bell?”

            “I remember that Dean used to pose as her dad. Lots of trouble, that one.” Cass flashed the cheesy smile again.

            The Doctor cast an eye over him. “Let’s see . . . desperate need of a shave, shower, and judging by all the women, I’d say you’re human, yeah? What happened to the angel part of you?”

            Cass laughed bitterly. “It’s gone. Poof. No more.”

            _What?_ “Why? How? Um, when?”

            “To lock the angels out of heaven. Metatron. A few months ago.”

            “What?”

            “Man, you really need to catch up.”

            “Oi, we just arrived fifteen minutes ago and Dean hasn’t been very helpful.”

            “The angels fell. No more wings. Metatron took my grace. No more power for me.”

            The Doctor shook his head. “No. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

            “Well, it did.”

            “Well, if you’re human, then how come Lucifer is in Sam’s body? Shouldn’t Sam still be Sam?”

            “ _All_ the angels fell. That includes Lucifer and Michael and Metatron himself. Luci needed a vessel.”

            “Ah.”

            “You said Annabelle wanted to come here. Why in the world would she want to do that?”

            He shrugged. “She never really said. I never asked. And as for what’s going on right now . . .”

            “What’s going on?”

            “Clearly you _haven’t_ noticed the zombie apocalypse running amok outside,” the Doctor commented dryly.

            “I have. Not too interested.”

            “You should be. Because this moment, this precise moment in time, it’s like . . . I mean it’s only a theory, what do I know. But I think certain moments in time are fixed. Tiny, precious moments. Everything else is in flux, anything can happen. But those certain moments, they have to stand. This base in Oregon, with you, Dean, Sam, this is one vital moment.”

            “Time and space bla bla bla. Are you done yet?” Cass said impatiently. “I’ve got an orgy to get back to.”

            The Doctor fixed him with a measuring, penetrating stare. “Do you? Really? Your own people are _dying_ out there and you’re hiding in here having a bloody orgy. Funny, that’s not the Castiel I’ve heard about.”

            “That's the Castiel you’ve got. If you think you’ve got something you should go talk to our fearless leader.”

            (By now, Annabelle was starting to think something bad happened after hearing the gunshot and was pacing nervously in the TARDIS.)

            “Go on then,” Cass added. “Let the ladies back in.”

            The Doctor gave Cass one last disdainful glance before heading back to Dean’s cabin, slipping the sonic out of his pocket on the way. As soon as he’d left, the ladies went back into Castiel’s cabin.

            He pushed open the door to Dean’s cabin and entered. “Dean—,” he began.

            Dean was still looking over the map. Two men from his group instantly trained their guns on the Doctor. “What do you want now?” Dean snapped, irritated.

            “Again with the guns! Seriously, put those down.”

            “Dean?” one of the men asked his leader.

            Dean turned around, looked the Doctor over. “He’s clean. Put ’em down.” They put the guns down. “Now what is it?”

            The Doctor swallowed, wondered how he was going to say this, and then decided to not think about it and let his gob do the talking. “Look, I don’t want you to think I’m a coward—I’m not—but there really is a reason that whatever’s going on here, I can’t stay to see it through. Most of the time I can; I do. Most of the time I could save someone—save anyone—but I can’t. Not this time, and especially not you.” He leaned against the door, crossed his arms over his hearts.

            “Well thanks for the notice,” Dean deadpanned. “If you’re not gonna help I want you out of my camp.”

            The Doctor sighed, tried again. “Look, Dean, this moment in time, this precise moment, it’s fixed. Certain moments in time are fixed. Tiny, precious moments. Everything else is in flux, anything can happen. But those certain moments, they have to stand. This base here with you, Dean Winchester, this is one vital moment. What happens here must always happen. And I don’t know what, but I know it shapes human history—and it’s wonderful. You were spared as Michael’s vessel because the angels knew. Your death is fixed in time forever. And that’s right.”

            This did not have the effect he expected.

            “Are you threatening me?” Dean demanded. The guns went up on the Doctor again. “Try me. You won’t make it two feet.”

            The Doctor eyed the guns coldly. “You know,” he said calmly, darkly, “just recently someone told me I was going to die. They said, ‘He will knock four times.’ I think I know what that means, and it doesn’t mean right here right now. Because I don’t hear anyone knocking, do you?”

            Dean looked confused for a minute. “No . . .,” he said slowly.

            “ _Molto bene_. And Dean, I’m sorry. I really truly am, with both my hearts.”

            The gunmen took a step back, but Dean held his ground. “You’re not threatening me in my own home! You have ten seconds to get out before they open fire!” He began counting down: “Ten, nine . . .”

            At that point, the Doctor knew it was better to retreat. “Okay, okay! I’m going!” He started backing out of the room. “See, this is me, going.” He walked out of the cabin and started heading down the path.

            “Eight, seven . . .” Dean paused, ordered, “Make sure he gets in his little box and leaves! Six, five, four . . .”

            A few explosions suddenly off, startling even the Doctor. Annabelle ran out of the TARDIS. “Doctor!” she cried.

            One of the guns was turned on her instantly.

            The Doctor was knocked off his feet, landing a few feet from where he’d been standing. He heard screams of pain, but inside his head he was hearing himself talking to other companions. To Martha: _“I’m not just a Time Lord; I’m the last of the Time Lords.”_ To Donna: _“It’ll never come back. Not now.”_ To Rose: _“I’ve got the TARDIS. Same old life. Last of the Time Lords.”_ To Mickey: _“Then they died, took it all with them. When the walls of reality closed, the worlds were sealed.”_ To Donna: _“Gone forever.”_ To Rose: _“Time Lords kept their eye on everything.”_ To Donna: _“Only, it’s gone now, all of it.”_ To Martha: _“But they died, the Time Lords! All of them, they died! . . . I’m the last of the Time Lords.”_   He rose to his feet, turned back, headed into the cabin, and started barking out orders.

            Annabelle followed him. Everyone was following his orders, including her. Dean, feeling like he’d lost control of his army, shouted, “EVERYONE, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Everyone froze except Annabelle. Dean’s voice grew louder and colder towards her: “THAT MEANS YOU, TOO! I _WILL_ HAVE YOU KILLED!” Annabelle stopped working at that. “AND YOU, DOCTOR! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”    

            “What’s it look like I’m doing?!” the Time Lord retorted, not pausing in his efforts to clear away some of the debris.

            “Taking over my troops!” Dean snapped. “I thought we made it clear! This is _my_ territory!”

            “Oh, really?” said the Doctor flippantly. “Cos I figured I might as well save you lot.”

            “We’re doing just fine on our own!”

            Annabelle looked Dean in the eye. “Kill me if you want,” she said, “but we used to be _family_. I don’t even know you anymore! Shut up and let someone help! I can see right through you! You’re falling apart! _Let him help!”_

            The Doctor’s brown hair was even messier than normal and completely defying gravity at the moment—it looked as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. His voice was half-crazed as he said, “And right now I should let you die, because there are laws, laws of time. Once upon a time there were people in charge of those laws but they died. They all died. Do you know who that leaves? ME! It’s taken me all this time to realize that the Laws of Time are _mine_ AND THEY WILL OBEY ME!”

            There was another explosion, and he was rocked off his feet.

            “Sorry, Doctor,” Chuck said, “but it looks like history’s got other ideas.”

            Dean and Annabelle fell together. Annabelle ended up on top of him. “Now, do I have to hold you down or can you handle someone helping you out?”

            Dean gulped. “They’re all yours, Doctor.”

            The Doctor was dashing about like a madman. He cried, “We're not just fighting Croatoan. We’re fighting Time itself, and I’M GONNA WIN!” There was a wild look in his eyes now. He took out his TARDIS key, which was glowing red hot, and stuck it in midair about where the door handle normally was.

            Annabelle looked scared, though she fought to hide it. “Doctor, I thought this was a fixed point . . .,” she began.

            The TARDIS materialized before she could protest further. He ushered them all inside, even Cass, set the TARDIS into flight, and took them a couple months into the future, same spot, same day as they left. They picked up Sam/Lucifer on the way as well, who didn’t try anything—the Doctor figured Team Free Will needed a reunion. They all piled out of the TARDIS, the Doctor bristling with newfound arrogance. Everyone was scared and wary of him, but he didn’t care. He stopped a few paces ahead of them, looked around at them all expectantly. “Well? Aren’t you going to thank me?”

            Annabelle was shaking with fear. “Y-you said it was a fixed point. You just put everyone in here and moved them. You’re playing God . . . You’re scaring me.”

            One of the men moved out of the crowd, eyes wide with fear and moving between the Doctor and the TARDIS. “That thing, it’s—it’s . . . bigger . . . on the inside. Who are you? Who the hell are you?” He ran off, his teammates following him. Then it was just Annabelle, Sam, Dean, and Cass with the Doctor.

            “Annabelle,” he said, trying to soothe her, “I’ve done this sort of thing before—in small ways, saved some little people. But never someone as important as the four of you.” He turned his head away, licking his lips. “Oh, I’m good.”

            She tried to back away, but came up against Sam and Dean. “Stop it!” she cried. “ _You’re scaring me!”_

            “And who decides that they’re _little people_?” Sam asked. _“You?”_

            The Doctor eyed them, something dark in his eyes. “For a long time now I thought I was just a survivor. But I’m not. I’m the winner. That’s who I am. The Time Lord Victorious,” he declared.

            Annabelle seriously thought about following the rest of the crowd. Cass looked as scared as a stoner could look. Sam had an evil Lucifer glint in his eyes; he was the only one smiling. Dean looked as scared as Annabelle felt.

            Finally Dean found his voice: “But I’m supposed to be dead.”

            “Not anymore. As for history . . . there’s different details, but the story’s the same.”

            Annabelle hugged Dean and whispered, “We always manage to cheat fate, huh?” She let go and looked at Sam. “And him? Is he still Lucifer?”

            “Nah,” the Doctor replied.

            By now, Cass had sobered up enough to manage: “But you can’t know that! No one should have that much power!”

            “Tough.” The Doctor’s voice was cold, unrelenting.

            Annabelle looked at the Doctor, barely made eye contact. “I don’t want to keep traveling with you if you do that all the time. You said there was nothing we could do.”

            “Don’t you get it?” He swept his gaze around all four of them. “You’re safe. Croatoan should be gone by now. You can inspire the rest of the world face-to-face.”

            She nodded, relieved. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

            Dean didn’t relax that easily. “I don’t care, Doctor! I don’t care who you are. The Time Lord Victorious is _wrong_!”

            “That’s for me to decide.”

            Annabelle gave Dean a look that said, _Back down._

            He didn’t. “And there’s no one to stop you?”

            “No.”

            Sam broke in, “Is there nothing you can’t do?”

            “Not anymore.”

            “So...” Annabelle said slowly, “doesn’t that basically make you God?”

            He tilted his head, considering. “I suppose so, yeah. I could go back and save my people from the Time War; I could prevent Donna losing her memory; I could save Rose Tyler from being trapped in a parallel universe. I could do more, _so much MORE_!”  The look in his eyes was dark, wild. This wasn’t the Doctor, not anymore, and Annabelle was completely terrified of him.

            She forced herself to make her voice firm and meet his eyes. “ _Listen to me._ What’s done is done. You _have_ to leave it alone. And if you won’t”—she moved between him and the TARDIS; Cass tossed her an angel blade, which she caught, and held a defensive stance—“I’ll stop you.”

            He released a bark of laughter, his eyes and voice cold. “You?” he sneered.

            “Yes, me.”

            Sam, Dean, and Cass assumed defensive stances, surrounding him. “And us,” Dean said.

            “The past is the past,” Annabelle told him. “You have to let people go and move on. _You can’t just bring everyone back_. It’s _wrong!_ I have angel friends who can bring people back to life, but I don’t have everyone I’ve ever lost, do I? _Let them go._ Usethe power you have wisely or _we will stop you.”_

            He didn’t need to hear this. “But Donna and Rose,” he countered, “ _they’re not dead_. As for you four, there are people looking for you. Oh, right, you’ve been away. Still, that’s easy.” He produced the sonic, aimed it at the lock. The door to the cabin opened. He pocketed the sonic, turned back. “There you go. Home sweet home. It’s all yours.”

            Annabelle clearly wasn’t finished. “I don’t _care_ if they aren’t dead! What you want is to bring them back to something they’ve left behind in some way. I don’t _want_ to just settle down and act like nothing happened and I _will not_ let you do this. Part of having power, Doctor, power like what you have, is knowing when to hold back. Now _sit down and THINK ABOUT YOUR CHOICES!”_ Her voice was stern and steady, like a mother’s.

He glared at her, expression and voice dark. “ _Don’t challenge me_ , Annabelle Winchester. I can see everything: All that is, all that was, all that ever could be, what should, what must not. That’s what I see _all the time_. If a human tries that . . . it’ll kill you.”

            “I don’t want to try it! I want you to get a hold of yourself! You’re not acting like yourself! Now, I’m being completely serious with you! Sit down! Think everything over!”

He scoffed. “I’m sorry, but who died and made you my mother?”

In a voice filled with sass, she retorted, “Who became a child in order to make me use this tone with you?”

The Doctor took a step forward, hand reaching out, and gripped her hard on the wrist. He twisted it, forcing her to drop the angel blade, and kicked it away. His eyes drifted up to Sam, Dean, and Cass. “Don’t even _think_ about trying anything,” he warned. “I’ll know if you do.”

She stared into his eyes. “I thought you were different. I guess I was wrong. You’re _just another monster._ At least that’s how you’re acting. What’s your game? Lure these girls in make them trust you and then show this side? This . . . _insanity_?”

He swiftly moved forward, pinning her back against the side of the TARDIS. “I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t, but I will if I have to.” His other hand came up, reaching for her temple. He showed her Rose falling into the Void, their first goodbye on Bad Wolf Bay; the second goodbye, with him leaving her with his duplicate; then he was taking Donna’s memories away. There was more, so much more—Adric’s death, him leaving Sarah Jane, Sam, Grace, Captain Jack. _Don’t you get it?_ he told Annabelle telepathically. _I_ have _to. Go home with Sam, Dean, Cass. Forget about me. If you don’t . . ._ His mental voice turned threatening. _I can always make you._

 _I get it,_ she said. _You fall in love. You_ love _them but . . . no one deserves to be alone and forget about you? No_. I’m staying with you _. No one gets left behind, Doctor._

_Oh, yes, they do. They always do. But Sam, Dean, your friend Cass—they should just go home. As for you . . . I’m inside your mind. There’s all sorts of things I could do to you right now._

_I don’t want to go. I like it with you._

 _Really? Even if I show you this?_ He showed her the final days of the Time War, him drowning the Empress of the Racnoss, punishing the Family of Blood.

_Even if you showed me that._

 _No. I travel on my own. It’s better that way. I don’t need_ anyone.

 _Everyone needs someone,_ she argued.

 _I don’t._ His mental voice turned thoughtful, silky. _As I pointed out earlier, I_ am _inside your mind. I could force you to leave, make you stay with your family. And right now, you can’t stop me from doing it. See, that’s the thing. I can’t stop myself. Never have been able to. As for what you said earlier . . . I didn’t seduce any of them—_ especially not _Donna or Martha. They came of their own free will. And they left because they had to. Rose . . ._ He sounded desperate, almost insane. _I can bring her back. I can stop her from falling into the Void._

_Fine. Do what you want. Tell Rose she’s lucky. Have fun._

He broke the link, released her. “Get out of here. Now. Go be with your family.”

She went reluctantly to Sam, Dean, and Cass. They tried to ask her questions, but she ignored them. She persuaded them to go into the cabin and refused to look back.

The Doctor started to open the TARDIS doors but then stopped. A nagging voice was telling him, _Not yet._

-oOo-

Annabelle sat on a bunk, unmoving. Her mind was reeling over the change in the Doctor’s personality. What had caused him to snap, to make him like that?

            Or had his dark side always been there, just covered up with a cheerful mask and excited demeanor?

            Even so, what gave him the right to declare himself above the Laws of Time? Just because he was the last Time Lord—

            And there was the rub. She’d kept forgetting that although he looked human, he was anything but. He was far older, far more dangerous. And this side of him . . . He scared her more than any angel did. At least she knew what angels were capable of. With the Doctor, she had no idea.

            And wasn’t that just absolutely terrifying?

            Sam, Dean, and Cass began to discuss what needed to be done, but she wasn’t paying attention, caught up as she was in her thoughts. After a minute, her ears caught something. She asked, “Hey did you hear that?”

            “No,” Dean said slowly. “What was it?”

            She dismissed it. “Probably nothing. What were we talking—?”

            Before Annabelle could finish her sentence, some men from the camp burst into the cabin with guns and cornered Dean. Despite the others’ protests, they offered him no choices and shot him execution style. Job done, they left.

            A horrified, grief-filed scream tore itself from Annabelle’s throat.

-oOo-

The Doctor whipped around at the sound of the gunshots and Annabelle’s scream.

Annabelle came flying out of the cabin and over to him. She shoved him against the TARDIS. “This is your fault, isn’t it?!” she yelled, demanded.

Horror crossed his face as he realized the full effect of what he’d done. He’d changed the future, with survivors around to tell their story—when none of it was supposed to happen. The Doctor shook his head in denial, then stopped as he spotted Ood Sigma off to the side. “I’ve gone too far,” he said to the Ood. “Is this it? My death? My time?” There was fear in his voice, much as he hated to admit it. But he didn’t want his song to end, didn’t want to regenerate. He wanted to hold on to this life, even though he had lost so much. He had gained so much as well: Rose, who would have been his lover if they’d ever taken that one step further; Donna, his funny, sarcastic best mate; a family made up completely of humans, former companions all of them. No, he didn’t want to go.

Annabelle looked down at the angel sword she didn’t even realize she had pressed to his chest. She took it away and tossed it to the side. She didn’t know that he wasn’t talking to her, didn’t see Ood Sigma standing off to the side. But then, why should she? The Ood was out of her line of vision. Annabelle told the Doctor, “I think it’d be in your best interest to get into that little box of yours and get out of here. Live with it. That’s worse than any death, isn't it?”

He didn’t look back as he slipped inside and ran into the TARDIS. Once at the console, he stood silently for a moment. His head shot up, brown eyes blazing. “No,” he snarled defiantly. The Doctor pulled down a lever, started the dematerialization process. So what if he was running away again? No one ever said he had to answer the Ood’s summons immediately.

Annabelle still hadn’t realized Ood Sigma had been there. She was focusing on who she believed caused Dean’s death—that was all that mattered to her. As the rasping of engines started up, she took a step back and screamed curses at the blue box.

            When it was gone, she was left screaming at the wind.                         

       


End file.
